Other states were carved or born,
Texas grew from hide and horn.

Other states are long or wide,
Texas is a shaggy hide,

Dripping blood and crumpled hair;
Some fat giant flung it there,

Laid the head where valleys drain,
Stretched its rump along the plain.

Other soil is full of stones,
Texans plow up cattle-bones.

Herds are buried on the trail,
Underneath the powdered shale;

Herds that stiffened like the snow,
Where the icy northers go.

Other states have built their halls,

I

ORDER is a lovely thing;
On disarray it lays its wing,
Teaching simplicity to sing.
It has a meek and lowly grace,
Quiet as a nun's face.
Lo — I will have thee in this place!
Tranquil well of deep delight,
Transparent as the water, bright —
All things that shine through thee appear
As stones through water, sweetly clear.
Thou clarity,
That with angelic charity
Revealest beauty where thou art,
Spread thyself like a clean pool
Then all the things that in thee are
Shall seem more spiritual and fair,

Ordained I was a beggar,
And have no cause to swagger;
It pierces like a dagger,
To think I'm thus forlorn.
My trade or occupation
Was ground for lamentation,
Which makes me curse my station,
And wish I'd ne'er been born.

Of slaving I am weary,
From June to January;
To nature it's contrary,
This, I presume, is fact.
Although, without a stammer,
Our Nell exclaims I clam her,
I've wield my six-pound hammer
Till I am grown round-backed.

I'm debtor to a many,
But cannot pay one penny;

Or the black centaurs, statuesquely still,
Whose moving eyes devour the snuffling mares,
And watch with baneful rage their nervous strides
Whip the dark river white, lest unawares
Some danger seize them. . . . Statuesquely still,
Behind the waving trellises of cane,
The centaurs feel their hearts (besieged with blood)
Stagger like anvils when the sled-blows rain
Shower on shower in persistent flood. . . .

Now Cornus, he, the oldest of the group,
With many wounds, strong arms, and clay-rolled hair,
Coughs for a signal to his dreadful troop,

BOOK 1, ODE 5

" Quis multa gracilis te puer in rosa — "

O R , P YRRHA , tell me who's the guy,
The boob, the simp you've got a date with?
(Well I recall what time 'twas I
You'd tête-a-tête with!)

I saw him in the barber's chair:
His face perfumed with scented water,
And oil upon his shoes and hair —
Dressed for the slaughter!

I do not know this kid whose goat
You've got by saying you adore him.
But, take it from this famous pote,
I'm sorry for him!

Or love mee lesse, or love mee more
and play not with my liberty,
Either take all, or all restore,
bind mee at least, or set mee free,
Let mee some nobler torture finde
than of a doubtfull wavering mynd,
Take all my peace, but you betray
myne honour too this cruell way.

Tis true that I have nurst before
that hope of which I now complaine,
And having little sought no more,
fearing to meet with your disdaine:
The sparks of favour you did give,
I gently blew to make them live:
And yet have gaind by all this care

THE OPTIMIST fell ten stories.
At each window bar
He shouted to his friends:
" All right so far. "

Oppressed and few, but freemen yet,
The men of Mecklenburg had met
Determined to be free,
And crook no coward knee,
Though Might in front and Treason at the back
Brought death and ruin in their joint attack.

The tyrant's heel was on the land
When Polk convoked his gallant band,
And told in words full strong
The bitter tale of wrong,
Then came a whisper, like the storm's first waves:
" We must be independent, or be slaves! "

But, hark! What hurried rider, this,
With jaded horse and garb amiss,

Ope your doors and take me in,
Spirit of the wood;
Wash me clean of dust and din,
Clothe me in your mood.

Take me from the noisy light
To the sunless peace,
Where at midday standeth Night
Signing Toil's release.

All your dusky twilight stores
To my senses give;
Take me in and lock the doors,
Show me how to live.

Lift your leafy roof for me,
Part your yielding walls,
Let me wander lingeringly
Through your scented halls.

Ope your doors and take me in,
Spirit of the wood;

The opal heart of afternoon
Was clouding on to throbs of storm,
Ashen within the ardent west
The lips of thunder muttered harm,
And as a bubble like to break
Hung heaven's trembling amethyst,
When with the sedge-grass by the lake
I braceleted her wrist.

And when the ribbon grass was tied,
Sad with the happiness we planned,
Palm linked in palm we stood awhile
And watched the raindrops dot the sand;
Until the anger of the breeze
Chid all the lake's bright breathing down,
And ravished all the radiancies