Colloquy Of The Statues

(The Avenue. Night Before Pershing’s Parade)

Goddess, goddess, dream you or drowse you? Horned Diana of Madison Square, Bending your bow at the stars that house you Hunt you the Hyades, way up there?

Over my chase curves the moon-ship, cruising, Flapping the skies like a cloud-white drake; Cellarer Mars and his stars are bousing Glories of light at her cruddled wake.

Sherman, Sherman, where are you riding? Winds atoss in your brazen hair, Down where the buildings are giants striding, Where are you riding, away down there?

Ride? I would stir not for twenty stallions. Yet, when your braggarts of planets fade, I shall march with the young battalions, Leading the van of the long parade!

Steed of the Pentecost what are you thinking? Golden charger whose eyeballs glare. Snuffing the smoke that is wine for your drinking What are you thinking, away down there?

Musing, I wait till the torrented forces Shake the black crowd to a crash of cheers At the measured trample of Liberty’s horses, The iron eyes of her cannoneers!

Whose is your guerdon now, bright palm-bearer? Courier of Valor none gainsayeth, For the old great cause, or a new cause fairer, Angel of Courage and Love and Death?

Freedom’s my guerdon. Her least word spoken Is a wind to shuffle the kings to sand, And the chains of oppression are utterly broken When she smites men’s hearts with her fiery hand!

Her old cause sleeps. To her new cause splendid I carry my palm like a flag unfurled; To the march that ends and is never ended! To Freedom’s drums in the blood of the world!

So was it once when my Father thundered. So shall it be until Man is grass. Peace, old friends, for the night is sundered, And with morn the leaping bayonets pass!