Spring 1954 • Vol. XVI No. 2 Poetry |

A Monument for Norfleet

(for HN.T., dead in the Saar, February, 1945) 1. There was uncommon stillness where he died, In a clean winter forest out of view And almost out of sound of the shells' cries. He died quietly as the woods around Received the sudden volley; tufts of snow Dropped down, some branches long with ice Clattered about him, then the only sound Was the slow silent whisper of snow on the wind. He died into the cold land as those trees Had died into the winter; what he put off Was much as if a tree should loose its leaves Into an urgent wind, to quit the shape, The spread and poise of summer, and abide In the black wreath of limbs the unborn spring. I made evil of his death, and sorrow Sprang in my mind when neither could have been In the unmoved, passionate land. The phantom States Gathered about the dark hole in the snow As wolves upon his body, where none were, Imperious idols of the shaken mind. I made his death: this dying Was the earth's passion; that it may be born The earth puts

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The Flower¹

By Edwin Watkins

(for HN.T., dead in the Saar, February, 1945) 1. There was uncommon stillness where he died, In a clean winter forest out of view And almost out of sound of […]

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