of you I see the soldiers. all alike all abreast keeping time

streets; they hear it, the old gates shake, and the leisurely patter

of frame houses, they have leapt the green tide towards the gardens

them detaching sweat smells from underclothes making muscles itch

a tremulous pale fleet over gleaming ripples to the

o you strong bells of castile, can it be that you

a dormir. beetred faces of men. the shadows make strange streaks and

brass beat. run run to see the flushed sunlight, the

blowing with bearded lips on a brave high bed; the golden light of

panting unsatiated breath that heaves under the golden crown has slipped