If one poem of a verse or more
I say not all
And more remains
Then another poem of verses
...
At night
At night they wake
At night they walk
At night they march
...
Blot
Blot with your hand
The beauty hand
That face that I like not
...
Dark sings the nightingale
To-night
I be surprised
Her song that be so dark
...
In the wall were there sighs
Not many
Just occasional
Just heavy
...
In the tomb lid
There were eyes
And from below
Came just sighs.
...
Verse thus dry!
Raw
Without a sigh
Without a pity
...
Sounds of marching
As in drill
Steps martial
One on one
...
‘Gruesome, '
Said my Monsignor
‘Verse of thundering, '
Said I.
...
Before the Crowds let me go.
The Crowds gather as usual.
...