How few are we. Probably three br In all-coallike, burning, infernal br Beneath the grey bark of the tree br Of wisdom, and clouds, and eternal br Debate on verse, transport, the part br The army will play-and on art. br br We used to be human. We're eras, br We're trains, in a caravan ripping br Through woods, to the sighing and fears br Of engines, and groans of the sleepers. br We'll rush in, and circle in the throes br Of being, like a whirlwind of crows. br br A miss! Much too late you will see it. br Thus galloping wind in the morning br In passing a straw pile will buffet- br The blow will live on as a warning br To riotous tree-tops, and mingle br With their wrangles over the shingles.