As if this nitrous flange of stone
Wept suddenly with such a cry;
As if the rock found lips to sigh,
The riven earth a mouth to moan;
But we that hear them, stumbling by,
Confuse their torments with our own.
Over the huge abraded rind,
Crow-countries graped with dung, we go,
Past gullies that no longer flow
And wells that nobody can find,
Lashed by the screaming of the crow,
Stabbed by the needles of the mind.
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I
When sea-captains had the evil eye,Or should have, what with beating krakens offAnd casting nativities of ships;Cook was a captain of the powder-daysWhen captains, you might have said, if you had beenFixed by their glittering stare, half-down the side,Or gaping at them up companionways,Were more like warlocks than a humble man—And men were humble then…
The red globe of light, the liquor green,
spilt on the stones, go deeper than a stream;You find this ugly, I find it lovelyGhosts’ trousers, like the dangle of hung men,in pawn-shop windows, bumping knee by knee,but none inside to suffer or condemn;You find this ugly, I find it lovely.Smells rich and rasping, smoke and fat and fishand puffs of paraffin that crimp…
READING how Marco Polo came
Forgotten fibres wake to flame,And smoke old memories anew . . . .For in a bygone life of mineI watched the carven rampart shine,Where Kublai’s five-clawed dragons glowedLike painted wyverns, line on line.And past those plaster dragon-heads,Those frescoes cut with curious flowers,In verdigris and lilac-redsOld tiles gleamed on the crusted towers,While bridges cleft of serpent-stoneBowed…
IN the castle of Glubbdubdrib
On flesh from magic potagersAnd cups of dead men’s wine,Dead men who run with bottles,Lackeys of silent air,A ghost in gilded liveryFawning behind each chair.Beckon, and flunkey CaesarsBring us their phantom bread.Once they were gods and emperors;Now, of course, they are dead.The governor of Glubbdubdrib(Two ghosts cringe on each side)Bows to congratulations,Filled with a careless…
EARTH which has known so many passages
Of strange and lovely atoms breeding light,Never may find again that lost delight.In the sharp sky, the frosty deepnesses,There are still birds to barb the silences,There are still fields to meet the morning on,But those who made them beautiful have gone.Diamonds are flung by other smoking springs,But where is he that cropped their offerings—The pick-purse…
SMOKE upon smoke; over the stone lips
Night, the old nun, in voiceless pity bendsTo kiss corruption, so fabulous her pity.All drowns in night. Even the lazar drownsIn earth at last, and rises up afresh,Married to dust with an Infanta’s flesh—So night, like earth, receives this poisoned city,Charging its air with beauty, coasting its lanternsWith mains of darkness, till the leprous clayDissolves,…