Winter 1945 • Vol. VII No. 1 Younger Poets |

Poems

1. The air was then so rarefied that love As young as only ours could breathe, and hot Upon the cheek and in the skull, a heat Of lean young spirit that can singly lave Itself in rocky streams. See, then it gropes Up where the deep snow lies by murderous pack And mountainous treachery reveals a peak, Or wanders down to eat the cooling grapes. The stream of memory in any land Will carve again its valley; from the steep, Ascetic, through the slender focus loaned To us it irrigates the plain, the steppe. But it was a dry and rare debate: Which was to us the highland of Tibet. 2. No doubt some distant, sleepy day the eye  Wandering across expanded sea  From present grammatical simplicity  Will see along the twisted line of the sky  Those phantom ships: the freighter of remorse, the tow  That broke, the champagne-drinking liner with red,  Loud cargo, which aimlessly float, their engines dead  Or out of oil, and have nowhere to go.You will be there, flotsam on quie

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