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Well； now suppose no gunsmith living
Had anything else but duplicate moulds
Of these I show youwell； all guns
Would be just alike； with a hammer to hit
The cap and a barrel to carry the shot
All acting alike for themselves； and all
Acting against each other alike。
And there would be your world of guns！
Which nothing could ever free from itself
Except a Moulder with different moulds
To mould the metal over。
Henry Phipps
I WAS the Sunday…school superintendent；
The dummy president of the wagon works
And the canning factory；
Acting for Thomas Rhodes and the banking clique；
My son the cashier of the bank；
Wedded to Rhodes； daughter；
My week days spent in making money；
My Sundays at church and in prayer。
In everything a cog in the wheel of thingsasthey…are：
Of money； master and man； made white
With the paint of the Christian creed。
And then：
The bank collapsed。
I stood and hooked at the wrecked machine
The wheels with blow…holes stopped with putty and painted；
The rotten bolts； the broken rods；
And only the hopper for souls fit to be used again
In a new devourer of life；
When newspapers； judges and money…magicians
Build over again。
I was stripped to the bone； but I lay in the Rock of Ages；
Seeing now through the game； no longer a dupe；
And knowing 〃Othe upright shall dwell in the land
But the years of the wicked shall be shortened。〃
Then suddenly； Dr。 Meyers discovered
A cancer in my liver。
I was not； after all； the particular care of God
Why； even thus standing on a peak
Above the mists through which I had climbed；
And ready for larger life in the world；
Eternal forces
Moved me on with a push。
Harry Wilmans
I WAS just turned twenty…one；
And Henry Phipps； the Sunday…school superintendent；
Made a speech in Bindle's Opera House。
〃The honor of the flag must be upheld；〃 he said；
〃Whether it be assailed by a barbarous tribe of Tagalogs
Or the greatest power in Europe。〃
And we cheered and cheered the speech and the flag he waved
As he spoke。
And I went to the war in spite of my father；
And followed the flag till I saw it raised
By our camp in a rice field near Manila；
And all of us cheered and cheered it。
But there were flies and poisonous things；
And there was the deadly water；
And the cruel heat；
And the sickening； putrid food；
And the smell of the trench just back of the tents
Where the soldiers went to empty themselves；
And there were the whores who followed us； full of syphilis；
And beastly acts between ourselves or alone；
With bullying； hatred； degradation among us；
And days of loathing and nights of fear
To the hour of the charge through the steaming swamp；
Following the flag；
Till I fell with a scream； shot through the guts。
Now there's a flag over me in
Spoon River。 A flag！
A flag！
John Wasson
OH！ the dew…wet grass of the meadow in North Carolina
Through which Rebecca followed me wailing； wailing；
One child in her arms； and three that ran along wailing；
Lengthening out the farewell to me off to the war with the British；
And then the long； hard years down to the day of Yorktown。
And then my search for Rebecca；
Finding her at last in Virginia；
Two children dead in the meanwhile。
We went by oxen to Tennessee；
Thence after years to Illinois；
At last to Spoon River。
We cut the buffalo grass；
We felled the forests；
We built the school houses； built the bridges；
Leveled the roads and tilled the fields
Alone with poverty； scourges； death
If Harry Wilmans who fought the Filipinos
Is to have a flag on his grave
Take it from mine。
Many Soldiers
THE idea danced before us as a flag；
The sound of martial music；
The thrill of carrying a gun；
Advancement in the world on coming home；
A glint of glory； wrath for foes；
A dream of duty to country or to God。
But these were things in ourselves； shining before us；
They were not the power behind us；
Which was the Almighty hand of Life；
Like fire at earth's center making mountains；
Or pent up waters that cut them through。
Do you remember the iron band
The blacksmith； Shack Dye； welded
Around the oak on Bennet's lawn；
From which to swing a hammock；
That daughter Janet might repose in； reading
On summer afternoons？
And that the growing tree at last
Sundered the iron band？
But not a cell in all the tree
Knew aught save that it thrilled with life；
Nor cared because the hammock fell
In the dust with Milton's Poems。
Godwin James
HARRY WILMANS！ You who fell in a swamp
Near Manila； following the flag
You were not wounded by the greatness of a dream；
Or destroyed by ineffectual work；
Or driven to madness by Satanic snags；
You were not torn by aching nerves；
Nor did you carry great wounds to your old age。
You did not starve； for the government fed you。
You did not suffer yet cry 〃forward〃
To an army which you led
Against a foe with mocking smiles；
Sharper than bayonets。
You were not smitten down
By invisible bombs。
You were not rejected
By those for whom you were defeated。
You did not eat the savorless bread
Which a poor alchemy had made from ideals。
You went to Manila； Harry Wilmans；
While I enlisted in the bedraggled army
Of bright…eyed； divine youths；
Who surged forward； who were driven back and fell
Sick； broken； crying； shorn of faith；
Following the flag of the Kingdom of Heaven。
You and I； Harry Wilmans； have fallen
In our several ways； not knowing
Good from bad； defeat from victory；
Nor what face it is that smiles
Behind the demoniac mask。
Lyman King
YOU may think； passer…by； that Fate
Is a pit…fall outside of yourself；
Around which you may walk by the use of foresight
And wisdom。
Thus you believe； viewing the lives of other men；
As one who in God…like fashion bends over an anthill；
Seeing how their difficulties could be avoided。
But pass on into life：
In time you shall see Fate approach you
In the shape of your own image in the mirror；
Or you shall sit alone by your own hearth；
And suddenly the chair by you shall hold a guest；
And you shall know that guest
And read the authentic message of his eyes。
Caroline Branson
WITH our hearts like drifting suns； had we but walked；
As often before； the April fields till starlight
Silkened over with viewless gauze the darkness
Under the cliff； our trysting place in the wood；
Where the brook turns！ Had we but passed from wooing
Like notes of music that run together； into winning；
In the inspired improvisation of love！
But to put back of us as a canticle ended
The rapt enchantment of the flesh；
In which our souls swooned； down； down；
Where time was not； nor space； nor ourselves
Annihilated in love！
To leave these behind for a room with lamps：
And to stand with our Secret mocking itself；
And hiding itself amid flowers and mandolins；
Stared at by all between salad and coffee。
And to see him tremble； and feel myself
Prescient； as one who signs a bond
Not flaming with gifts and pledges heaped
With rosy hands over his brow。
And then； O night！ deliberate！ unlovely！
With all of our wooing blotted out by the winning；
In a chosen room in an hour that was known to all！
Next day he sat so listless； almost cold
So strangely changed； wondering why I wept；
Till a kind of sick