ISSUE: Summer 1936
CALLING ON A DEAD FRIEND
That one wan man has reared his shade No other man dares know;
And that this man did lay his shade In a tight clavicle of snow,
Where redding plant and root-hairs fine Their drearless chant still blithely chime,
No other man dares know.
Or that the darkened pane of grass
Could mirror for his whim,
Or that his breathrid features pass
In summons to his sin,
He fully knew—
Thus into earth this dead man grew.
And on his stone there heaped a sign
That modelled ill his worth.
Yet laughter from his vision blew:
A poplar, birch,
The myrtle, yew,
And forty-twenty resting trees
Tame the footprint where his widow grieves.
