In the American Grain

A war in which I shall give mine

unobstructed

a freedom

that I have called

nothing and take from it

my glance of viewing.

The grasses!

By no reasons

to be represented no marching from one

end to the other,

In silent spring,

volcanic rimmed, they have

held out to me

as fine as—

like stars live whoever that light,

On wildness then! and most quietly as a

drift of halos,

To grace is its flow on accurate earth.

  • William Carlos Williams