I The bronze General Grant riding a bronze horse in Lincoln      Park Shrivels in the sun by day when the motor cars whirr      by in long processions going somewhere to keep appointment      for dinner and matinees and buying and selling Though in the dusk and nightfall when high waves are piling On the slabs of the promenade along the lake shore near by I have seen the general dare the combers come closer And make to ride his bronze horse out into the hoofs      and guns of the storm. II I cross Lincoln Park on a winter night when the snow      is falling. Lincoln in bronze stands among the white lines of snow,      his bronze forehead meeting soft echoes of the newsies      crying forty thousand men are dead along the      Yser, his bronze ears listening to the mumbled roar      of the city at his bronze feet. A lithe Indian on a bronze pony, Shakespeare seated with      long legs in bronze, Garibaldi in a bronze cape, they      hold places in the cold, lonely snow to-night on their      pedestals and so they will hold them past midnight      and into the dawn.