Man of the flame-eyes br And mouth with the bitter twist of in-grown laughter, br And little bald man . . . whose seeming stillness br Is akin to the velocity of a spinning star br Holding its perfect poise— br You two yea-sayers br Beetling over the little deniers, br Two great levelers, building from the earth up, among br puttiers and pluggers of rotten piles— br You of the rich life, running in ample measure, amidst br life deleted of its old raw fire as earth is deleted br of its coal and iron— You be mighty hunters and keepers, br Trotsky and Lenine— br Yet can you hold . . . the unconstrainable One br Of the slow and flaming deaths br And multiple resurrections ? br br Hands, reaching in hundreds of millions, br Backs, straightening under the keeling floor of the world, br Can you hold the great white bird?— br She that sweeps low over the chain-gangs br When they glance up from their stone7breaking br Into morning's burning gold; br She that goes down into underground cells, br Sending the cool wind of her wings br Through unsevering stone . . .