Poem by Elinor Wylie

The Poor Old Cannon

Upbroke the sun 
In red-gold foam; 
Thus spoke the gun 
At the Soldier’s Home:

”Whenever I hear 
Blue thunder speak 
My voice sounds clear 
But little and weak.

”And when the proud 
Young cockerels crow 
My voice sounds loud, 
But gentle and low.

”When the mocking-bird 
Prolongs his note 
I cannot be heard 
Though I split my throat.”

1. Escape
2. Ophelia
3. Quarrel
4. Bronze Trumpets and Sea Water - On Turning Latin into English
5. Atavism

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