A fence leans
In the driving
Snow
Upon a
Wheel a
Cockerel crows the
Crimson dawn
Like giant
Spokes
The barren fields
Contain
The pitiless
Winter in their icy
Arms:
Black winter's wheel,
Whose rim is heaven –
And whose hub is
Where each
Stands alone.
1 | Freedom |
2 | The Dividing Line |
3 | All Hail! |
4 | The Song Of The Martyrs |
5 | The Song Of The Dignity Of Labour Under Capital |
6 | Joan |