Piracy! The very name is fantastic in my ears, colored
like a toucan in the zoo.
And yet the ordinance is clear: "Four armed guards,
strong metal grills behind the bridge, the engine-room
enclosed—in case of piracy."
The socks of the sentry are green.
Up and down, up and down he paces, between the
bridge and the first of the life-boats.
In my deck chair I grow restless.
Am I then so far removed from life, so wrapped in
cotton wool, so deep-sunk in the soft lap of civilization,
that I cannot feel the cold splash of truth?
It is a disquieting thought—for certainly piracy seems
as fantastic as ever.
The socks of the sentry annoy me. They are too
green for so hot a day.
And his shoes squeak.
I should feel much cooler if he wouldn't pace so.
Piracy!
Somewhere on the River
The Altar of Heaven
Beneath the leaning, rain-washed sky this great white
circle—beautiful!
In three white terraces the circle lies, piled one on
one toward Heaven. And on each terrace the
white balustrade climbs in aspiring marble, etched
in cloud.
And Heaven is very near.
For this is worship native as the air, wide as the
wind, and poignant as the rain,
Pure aspiration, the eternal dream.
Beneath the leaning sky this great white circle!
Peking