A. M. Klein

"And my tears, too, have stained this heirloomed ground, When reading in these treatises some weird Miracle, I turned a leaf and found A white hair fallen from my father's beard."

"Where are the braves, the faces like autumn fruit, who stared at the child from the coloured frontispiece?"

"This is a grassy ghetto, and no home."

"For the tourist's brown pennies scattered at the old church door, the ragged papooses jump, and bite the dust."

"The animals pale, the shine of the fur is lost, bleached are their living bones. About them watch as through a mist, the pious prosperous ghosts."