They see you, piercing like gray swords through flowers,
And smile from hearts at peace.
[BEETHOVEN IN CENTRAL PARK]
(After a glimpse of a certain monument in New York, during the Victory Celebration)
THE thousand-windowed towers were all alight.
Throngs of all nations filled that glittering way;
And, rich with dreams of the approaching day,
Flags of all nations trampled down the night.
No clouds, at sunset, die in airs as bright.