James Oppenheim Poems

As we come marching, marching, in the beauty of the day,
A million darkened kitchens, a thousand mill-lofts gray
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Where love once was, let there be no hate:
Though they that went as one by night and day
Go now alone,
Where love once was, let there be no hate.
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They set the slave free, striking off his chains…
Then he was as much of a slave as ever.

He was still chained to servility,
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Ye morning-glories, ring in the gale your bells,
And with dew water the walk's dust for the burden-bearing ants:
Ye swinging spears of the larkspur, open your wells of gold
And pay your honey-tax to the hummingbird . . .
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I keep walking around myself, mouth open with amazement:
For by all the ethical rules of life, I ought to be solemn and sad,
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In a dark hour, tasting the Earth.
As I lay on my couch in the muffled night, and the rain lashed my window,
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Clearing in the forest,
In the wild Kentucky forest,
And the stars, wintry stars strewn above!
O Night that is the starriest
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Who is the runner in the skies,
With her blowing scarf of stars,
And our Earth and sun hovering like bees about her blossoming heart?
Her feet are on the winds, where space is deep,
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