To loop and dip and interlace;For he had passed the stripling stage,And stood a man, ripe for the wageA man extorts of life; his gageWas down. The beauty of the yearWas on him now, and somewhere nearBy in the woods, as like as not,His cares were laid away, forgotIn hearty wonderment and praiseOf one of spring's all perfect days.
But in my heart a shadow walkedAt beauty's side; a terror stalkedFor prey this loveliness of time.A curse lay on this land and clime.For all my mother's love of it,Prosperity could not be writIn any book of destinyFor this most red epitomeOf man's consistent crueltyTo man. Corruption, blight, and rustWere its reward, and canker mustSet in. There were too many ghostsUpon its lanes, too many hostsOf dangling bodies in the wind,Too many voices, choked and thinnedBeseeching mercy on its air.
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