Youth fears death,
For the blossom longs to be fruit.
But the fruit that is ripened by age
Loves Autumn’s west wind
And laughs, falling…
Only the unripened old fear to go.
—James Oppenheim (1882–1932), War and Laughter, 1916
james oppenheim
March Night
I shook off the house like a hooded cape,
And came out, free, into the March-blown street…
At a lash of the gale, at a sight of the cloud-tattered skies,
As a coat discarded,
I shook off civilization
And became wild,
And my naked soul raced the clouds,
And the flavor of the Earth was fresh and primitive…
—James Oppenheim (1882–1932), War and Laughter, 1916