The Cross-Roads Amy lowell a bullet through his heart at dawn. On the table a letter signed with a woman ' s name. a wind that goes howlinground the and weeping as in shame. Cold November dawn peeping through the windows cold dawn creep ing over the floor, creeping up his cold legs, creeping over his cold body, creeping across his cold face a glaze of thin yellow sunlight on the staring eyes. Wind Howling through bent branches a wind which never own Howling, wailing The gazing eyes glitter in the sunlight. The lids are frozen open and the eyes glitter The thudding of a pick on hard earth. Aspade grindin and crunching. Overhead, branches writhing, winding, inter lacing, unwinding, scatteringThe Cross-Roads Amy Lowell A bullet through his heart at dawn. On the table a letter signed with a woman's name. A wind that goes howling round the house, and weeping as in shame. Cold November dawn peeping through the windows, cold dawn creeping over the floor, creeping up his cold legs, creeping over his cold body, creeping across his cold face. A glaze of thin yellow sunlight on the staring eyes. Wind Howling through bent branches. A wind which never dies down. Howling, wailing. The gazing eyes glitter in the sunlight. The lids are frozen open and the eyes glitter. The thudding of a pick on hard earth. A spade grinding and crunching. Overhead, branches writhing, winding, interlacing, unwinding, scattering;