The Races of America

Faces under limestone, below stalactite, stalagmite, Faces in blue stones and flint, In the sinew of buffalo and birch, In the moody fires of pitchblende, red oak, Submerged, lost, Under piles of bones, antlers and vegetable starch. iii A comet's tail fissures the air of the upper earth, Volcanoes grumble in the belly of stones, Black fog climbs up the valley of a river, A seaport seizures On the waters and great rocks.