THEODORE DREISER

The man body jumbled out of the earth, half formed,

Clay on the feet,

Heavy with the lingering might of chaos.

The man face so high above the feet

As if lonesome for them like a child.

The veins that beat heavily with the music they but half understood

Coil languidly around the heart

And lave it in the death stream

Of a grand impersonal benignance.