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 | The Song Of The Martyrs |
2 | Joan |
3 | Labyrinth |
4 | Freedom |
5 | The Slave |
6 | Gold |
7 | All Hail! |
8 | The Dividing Line |
9 | The Song Of The Dignity Of Labour Under Capital |