Category: Poetry
Whereas at Venice Abhorrent, green, slippery city Whose Doges were old, and had ancient eyes, In the dense foliage of the inner garden Pomegranates like bright green stone, And barbed, barbed with a crown. Oh, crown of spiked green metal Actually growing!
Never, bolshevistically To be able to stand for all these! Alas, alas, I have got to leave it all To the youths in Sunday suits and yellow shoes Who have pulled down the salvia...
4. Part 4And round and round and round! Blundering more insane, and leaping, in throbs, to clutch at a corner, At a wire, at a bell-rope: On and on, watched relentless by me, round and r...
5. Part 5Worse than the cry of the new-born, A scream, A yell, A shout, A pæan, A death-agony, A birth-cry, A submission, All tiny, tiny, far away, reptile under the first dawn. War-cry,...
6. Part 6Queer it is, suddenly, in the garden To catch sight of her standing like some huge, ghoulish grey bird in the air, on the bough of the leaning almond-tree, Straight as a board o...
2. Part 2Among the sinuous, flame-tall cypresses That swayed their length of darkness all around Etruscan-dusky, wavering men of old Etruria: Naked except for fanciful long shoes, Going...
1. Part 1Whereas at Venice Abhorrent, green, slippery city Whose Doges were old, and had ancient eyes, In the dense foliage of the inner garden Pomegranates like bright green stone, And...
7. Part 7Instead, I look out. And out to the dim of the desert, like a dream, never real; To the snow of the Sangre de Cristo mountains, the ice of the mountains of Picoris, And near acr...