And a crab one afternoon in a pool, An old crab with barnacles on his back, Gripped the end of a stick which I held him. Half-past three, The lamp sputtered, The lamp muttered in the dark. La lune ne garde aucune rancune, She smiles into corners. She smooths the hair of the grass. That smells of dust and eau de Cologne, With all the old nocturnal smells Of sunless dry geraniums Smells of chestnuts in the streets, And cocktail smells in bars. The circles of the stormy moon Slide westward toward the River Plate, Gloomy Orion and The Dog Are veiled; and hushed the shrunken seas; Slips and pulls the table cloth, She yawns and draws a stocking up; The silent man in mocha brown The silent vertebrate in brown Tears at the grapes with murderous paws; She and the lady in the cape The host with someone indistinct And sang within the bloody wood Burbank crossed a little bridge They were together, and he fell. Defunctive music under sea Passed seaward with the passing bell Slowly: the God Hercules Had left him, that had loved him well. The horses, under the axletree But this or such was Bleistein's way: A lusterless protrusive eye Stares from the protozoic slime The rats are underneath the piles. A meager, blue-nailed, phthisic hand Klein. Who clipped the lion's wings THE HOLLOW MEN Mistah Kurtz-he dead. BURBANK WITH A BAEDEKER: BLEISTEIN WITH A CIGAR Tra-la-la-la-la-la-laire-nil nisi divinum stabile est; caetera fumus-the gondola stopped, the old palace was there, how charming its gray and pink—goats and monkeys, with such hair too!-so the countess passed on until she came through the little park, where Niobe presented her with a cabinet, and so departed. A penny for the Old Guy I We are the hollow men Headpiece filled with straw. Alas! ANIMULA "Issues from the hand of God, the simple soul" In the fragrant brilliance of the Christmas tree, Content with playing-cards and kings and queens, Issues from the hand of time the simple soul Unable to fare forward or retreat, Fearing the warm reality, the offered good, Denying the importunity of the blood, Shadow of its own shadows, specter in its own gloom, Leaving disordered papers in a dusty room; Living first in the silence after the viaticum. Pray for Guiterriez, avid of speed and power, For Boudin, blown to pieces, For this one who made a great fortune, And that one who went his own way. Pray for Floret, by the boarhound slain between the yew trees, Pray for us now and at the hour of our birth. A SONG FOR SIMEON Lord, the Roman hyacinths are blooming in bowls and The winter sun creeps by the snow hills; The stubborn season has made stand. My life is light, waiting for the death wind, Like a feather on the back of my hand. Dust in sunlight and memory in corners Wait for the wind that chills towards the dead land. Who shall remember my house, where shall live my children's children They will take to the goat's path, and the fox's home, Before the time of cords and scourges and lamentation Before the stations of the mountain of desolation, Now at this birth season of decease, Let the Infant, the still unspeaking and unspoken Word, To one who has eighty years and no tomorrow. According to thy word. They shall praise Thee and suffer in every generation Light upon light, mounting the saints' stair. Not for me the martyrdom, the ecstasy of thought and prayer, Not for me the ultimate vision. Grant me thy peace. (And a sword shall pierce thy heart, Thine also.) I am tired with my own life and the lives of those after me, Having seen thy salvation. JOURNEY OF THE MAGI "A cold coming we had of it, Just the worst time of the year For a journey, and such a long journey: The ways deep and the weather sharp, The very dead of winter." And the camels galled, sore-footed, refractory, Lying down in the melting snow. There were times we regretted The summer palaces on slopes, the terraces, And the silken girls bringing sherbet. Then the camel men cursing and grumbling And running away, and wanting their liquor and women, And the night-fires going out, and the lack of shelters, And the cities hostile and the towns unfriendly |