My army, O my army! The time I dreamed of comes!
I want to see your colours; I want to hear your drums!
I heard them in my boyhood when all men's hearts seemed cold;
I heard them through the Years of Life — and now I'm growing old!
My army, O my army! The signs are manifold!

My army, O my army! My army and my Queen!
I sang your Southern battle-songs when I was seventeen!
They echoed down the ages, they came from far and near;
They came to me from Paris, they came to me from Here!
They came when I was marching with the Army of the Rear.

Faire is the soule, white with faire Innocence,
Rightly that doth expound the Scriptures sence ,
And void of all adulterating guise,
No sence will give but such as edifies,
Chusing that sence that most doth sinne destroy,
Inviting of the soule to heavenly Ioy,
So taking off the black and staine of sinne,

With former beauty doth the soul begin
Heroickly to shine, and glister white.
Indeed who thus expoundeth hits it right.
Thus be you Reverend Father, with faire senc ,
Expound Gods Word, shewing your innocence.

FIRST MOVEMENT

I can dismiss the praise of all the rest
But when you censure me I still feel blessed.

The praise I get from others is mere guff.
For me your slightest cavil's praise enough

I don't take compliments from anyone:
Your mere abuse is worth a smug well done .

When others praise my poems, it makes me spit.
I just adore it when you say they're shit.

SECOND MOVEMENT

When creeps such as McGarrigle praise my books
I'd give the world for one of your sour looks.

O soul, with consecrated vow,
Who minglest in the arduous strife
For truths that men receive not now,
Thy warfare only ends with life.

Yet nerve thy spirit to the proof,
And blench not at thy chosen lot;
The timid good may stand aloof,
The sage may frown, yet faint thou not:

Nor heed the shaft too surely cast,
The foul and hissing bolt of scorn;
For with thy side shall dwell at last
The victory of endurance born.

Lo, Error, wounded, writhes in pain
And dies among his worshippers;

If things had happened differently,
Maine or upper Michigan
might have given me a sense of place —

a topic that now consumes 87%
of all commentary on American literature.

I might have run naked by a bayou
or been beaten near a shrouded cove on a coastline.

Arizona could have raised me.
Even New York's Westchester County
with its stone walls scurrying up into the woods
could have been the spot to drop a couple of roots.

But as it is, the only thing that gives me
a sense of place is this upholstered chair

In which the Author addresses two Sisters of his intimate Acquaintance, (one married unhappily) upon their informing him that they were obliged to submit to a Separation; the youngest, Miss. H. going to live with her Mother .

I.

Scarce yet restor'd to social Joy,
How little did I dream,
A second Stroke so soon prepar'd,
To damp Life's future Scene!

II.

And must our Friendship finish here? —
But what must be your Grief,
Ill-fated Fair, depriv'd of all,

The Captains sailed from all the World — from all the world and Spain;
And each one for his country's ease, her glory and her gain;
The Captains sailed to Southern Seas, and sailed the Spanish Main;
And some sailed out beyond the World, and some sailed home again.

And each one for his daily bread, and bitter bread it was,
Because of things they'd left at home — or for some other cause.
Their wives and daughters made the lace to deck the Lady's gown,
Where sailors' wives sew dungarees by many a seaport town.

At the hotel coffee shop that morning,
the waitress was wearing a pink uniform
with " Florence " written in script over her heart.

And the man who checked my bag
had a badge that said " Ben. "
Behind him was a long row of royal palms.

On the plane, two women poured drinks
from a cart they rolled down the narrow aisle —
" Debbie " and " Lynn " according to their winged tags.

And such was my company
as I arced from coast to coast,
and so I seldom spoke, and then only

Address'd to Mr . G AINSBOROUGH , Painter, at Bath; in which the Author reminds him of his Promise made in last April, to present him with a whole length Picture .

Presuming upon Friendship shown,
In April last at Bath when down,
I should e'er now address'd a Letter,
(Perhaps like this for want of better)
And begg'd to be indulg'd the Reason,
You came not up in May's fair Season;
But ever since a fell Disease,
Foe to my Mind and Body's Ease,
Has prey'd upon my ev'ry Hour,
Palsy'd each Sense with banesul Pow'r;

When Your Wine Cellar Becomes a Bomb Shelter

Quel dommage , no more
fromage ; our champagne flutes
are dry, for we drank
the champagne when the water
failed, and the light pales now
as the dust drifts in,
for the French doors' glass
is smashed and gone,
the veranda's a crater,
and just today,
though it hurts to say,
the puppy — we ate her —
we were out of pâte.