I hate my mouth
when it spits
each impulse
of the lazy brain,
but you I envy
so much, because
you take that dreaming
and make it pleasing
and pure. and worth.
and I can’t do that....
that’s the way I want to turn.
all my words make little sense,
even these are like the rest,
even these I want to burn.

thinkers champion
Viennese democracy;
students not impressed

careful glance
sun shadows my plate
hope rush by

rich peasant
pockets bare, heart full
love is gold

four seasons
pass in one long month
salt aches cheeks

My with'ring will is like a willow:
With ev'ry wistful week, I weep,
And I but weakly wet my pillow.

From north to south, in every province hence,
A shout rings out, a call to arms—and war:
That snake which slithers silent o'er the fence,
Shall swallow swift this ancient land once more.
As rough the beating of the battle drum,
Still rougher are the hands of men who ****;
Though noble cowards scruple to succumb,
Too oft are they dismissed for men who will.
Let rivers red run over tranquil fields,
And stain the hands of peasant, peer, and priest,
Till foes who've wronged us either die or yield,
Then only will this nation scorned know peace.
This way, I guess a billion souls or more
Have fallen victim to barbaric war.