170
what's o'clock
Slowly, slowly, she raised her head,
But the parrakeet fell down like lead
Upon the matting, still and dead.
Softly, softly, she gazed at me,
And I saw a thing which I dared not see.
"My love!" she said, and the tones were sweet
As ever she used to the parrakeet.
But I had made my flaming breast
A weapon to kill a bird on its nest—
A single flame for the bird and me,
And I was as smothered as he could be.
I stared at her from the farther side
Of Hell, no space is great beside
This space. I could not see her face
Across such vastitude of space,
And over it drowsed a darkened thing:
A monster parrakeet's green wing.
The air was starred with parrakeets.
I turned and rushed into the streets.
But the parrakeet fell down like lead
Upon the matting, still and dead.
Softly, softly, she gazed at me,
And I saw a thing which I dared not see.
"My love!" she said, and the tones were sweet
As ever she used to the parrakeet.
But I had made my flaming breast
A weapon to kill a bird on its nest—
A single flame for the bird and me,
And I was as smothered as he could be.
I stared at her from the farther side
Of Hell, no space is great beside
This space. I could not see her face
Across such vastitude of space,
And over it drowsed a darkened thing:
A monster parrakeet's green wing.
The air was starred with parrakeets.
I turned and rushed into the streets.
