WEEDS ABOVE THE SNOW 311 



dead and ugly, a revelation of man's structural 

 spirituality, like the weed-tops above the snow! 

 But we see war intoxicate as well as purge, and we 

 see peace reveal gross selfishnesses, ugly, rank green 



burdocks of greed and covetousness. Nowhere does 

 the world of man lie cool beneath a white snow 

 blanket, each lifted soul a bitten, lacy line of beauty. 

 We seem to see plumed souls that wave and beckon, 

 strong, solid, spired souls, souls delicate as tops of 

 grass; but ever such a mass and maze of other souls, 

 lineless, formless, or of evil twist, souls like dead 

 leaves that rot, or weeds that crowd the flowers out, 



