THe HAND THE EYE
drop into the dark river.
Heedless of political significance,
they ride out to the sea like stars.
SATISFIED CLIENTS FROM ALL AROUND
I tell you, hopeless grief is passionless—
That only men incredulous of despair,
Half-taught in anguish, through the midnight air,
Beat upward to God’s throne in loud access
Of shrieking and reproach. Full desertness
In souls, as countries, lieth silent-bare
Under the blenching, vertical eye-glare
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