Kenneth Patchen

The Constant Bridegrooms


Far down the purple wood

Coats of a company

Of silent soldiers

Flap idly in the wind


There they have stood


Since early day

Faces turned incuriously to the sound

Of the dry rustling

Of leaves in the wind


No command has reached


Them there

All silent have they stood


Though they were asleep

Now night darkens their coats

Far away

Their names are spoken

Somewhere at world’s end