THIS AUTUMN is mine, for she was rocked in my heart. The glistening bells of her anklets rang in my blood, and her misty veil fluttered in my breath. I know the touch of her blown hair in all my dreams. She is abroad in the trembling leaves that danced in my life-throbs, and her eyes that smile from the blue sky drank their light from me.
THERE ON THE crest of the hill stands the Man of faith amid the snow-white silence, He scans the sky for some signal of light, and when the clouds thicken and the nightbirds scream as they fly he cries, 'Brothers, despair not, for Man is great.' But they never heed him, for they believe that the elemental brute is eternal and goodness in its depth is darkly cunning in deception. When beaten and wounded they cry, 'Brother, where art thou?' The answer comes, 'I am by your side.' But they cannot see in the dark and they argue that the voice is of their own desperate desire, that men are ever condemned to fight for phantoms in an interminable desert of mutual menace.
