At the Ball Game The crowd at the ball game is moved uniformly by a spirit of uselessness which delights them-- all the exciting detail of the chase and the escape, the error the flash of genuis-- all to no end save beauty the eternal-- So in detail they, the crowd, are beautiful for this to be warned against saluted and defied-- It is alive, venomous it smiles grimly its words cut-- The flashy female with her mother, gets it-- The Jew gets it straight--it is deadly, terrifying-- It is the Inquisition, the Revolution It is beauty itself that lives day by day in them idly-- This is the power of their faces It is summer, it is the solstice the crowd is cheering, the crowd is laughing in detail permanently, seriously without thought