Page:Anthology of Magazine Verse (1921).djvu/188

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Pushing back the granite frightMen sing morning and sing night.
Only singing matters nowWith stark birds on every bough.
Keeping back the lonelinessMen will swagger and caress,And to dodge the fear of snowSing high and sing low.
Caroling for morning, caroling for noon,Stiff tasks done with a tiny tune,And never a noteIn timbre any bigger than the tone of a flute,Little sounds only coming in the throat,And the big sounds mute.
Thinner, rarer and more shrill,As silence whitens on the hill,Whistling in daylight to keep up nerve,While blue whiteness comes up the curve.
Bravado of sparse breathBlown straight at death,Voices in silences, swooping like birds,Voices and carolingWarm words. Flung at the sky's stiff stareInto the brittle airA laugh like a torch's flare. . . .
Desperate gaiety and gamesAnd pleasantries for comfort like wan flames,Will be their only way,For in the midst of play—Pause—a long sway,Something faltering underneath,The brief

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