Digesting all the world! . . .
Look at the eager people open-mouthed
That stand as foolish rabbits hypnotised
By the uncoiling rhythm of a snake,
Their earth adoring senses caught awhile
In the red whirlwind of ascending wings;
Their spirits straining upward upon strings
Like kites and air balloons, but more grotesque,
Lacking the ephemeral beauty of a toy—
Yet for an hour
Dyed with the colour that their drabness fears
They kiss the feet of beauty as she passes
Starwards, tremendous in a coat of fire.
······
3 A.M.
The dawn seems drained of blood so colourless—
Slowly the river moves as though in sleep
While silent barges
Slide from the mist like dreams;
The intricate patterns of the scaffolding
Are drawn against the sky
More delicate than lace.
All the shimmering lights
Have shrunk away from morning
As a blue peacock sheaves his starry tail. . . .
I am alone, most utterly alone,
More lonely than the last man in the world
Straying amid the dust of vanished lives.
More lonely than a spirit stolen from heaven
Who stands beside that nebulous cold river
Dividing sleep from death,
Eternity from time. . . .
Nothing disturbs the white peace of the dawn,
She brings no feverous memories of night
And sheds no tears.
Look at the eager people open-mouthed
That stand as foolish rabbits hypnotised
By the uncoiling rhythm of a snake,
Their earth adoring senses caught awhile
In the red whirlwind of ascending wings;
Their spirits straining upward upon strings
Like kites and air balloons, but more grotesque,
Lacking the ephemeral beauty of a toy—
Yet for an hour
Dyed with the colour that their drabness fears
They kiss the feet of beauty as she passes
Starwards, tremendous in a coat of fire.
······
3 A.M.
The dawn seems drained of blood so colourless—
Slowly the river moves as though in sleep
While silent barges
Slide from the mist like dreams;
The intricate patterns of the scaffolding
Are drawn against the sky
More delicate than lace.
All the shimmering lights
Have shrunk away from morning
As a blue peacock sheaves his starry tail. . . .
I am alone, most utterly alone,
More lonely than the last man in the world
Straying amid the dust of vanished lives.
More lonely than a spirit stolen from heaven
Who stands beside that nebulous cold river
Dividing sleep from death,
Eternity from time. . . .
Nothing disturbs the white peace of the dawn,
She brings no feverous memories of night
And sheds no tears.
59
