Part 14 (1/2)

Across the hot square, where the barbaric sun Pours coa.r.s.e laughter on the crowds, Trumpets throw their loud nooses From corner to corner.

Elephants, whose indifferent backs Heave with red lambrequins, Tigers with golden muzzles, Negresses, greased and turbaned in green and yellow, Weave and interweave in the merciless glare of noon.

The sun flicks here and there like a throned tyrant, Snapping his whip.

From amber platters, the smells ascend Of overripe peaches mingled with dust and heated oils.

Pages in purple run madly about, Rolling their eyes and grinning with huge, frightened mouths.

And from a high window--a square of black velvet-- A haughty figure stands back in the shadow, Aloof and silent.

THEY SAY--

They say I have a constant heart, who know Not anything of how it turns and yields First here, first there; nor how in separate fields It runs to reap and then remains to sow; How, with quick wors.h.i.+p, it will bend and glow Before a line of song, an antique vase, Evening at sea; or in a well-loved face Seek and find all that Beauty can bestow.

Yet they do well who name it with a name, For all its rash surrenders call it true.

Though many lamps be lit, yet flame is flame; The sun can show the way, a candle too.

The tribute to each fragment is the same Service to all of Beauty--and her due.

RESCUE

Wind and wave and the swinging rope Were calling me last night; None to save and little hope, No inner light.

Each snarling lash of the stormy sea Curled like a hungry tongue.

One desperate splash--and no use to me The noose that swung!

Death reached out three crooked claws To still my clamoring pain.

I wheeled about, and Life's gray jaws Grinned once again.

To sea I gazed, and then I turned Stricken toward the sh.o.r.e, Praying half-crazed to a moon that burned Above your door.

And at your door, you discovered me; And at your heart, I sobbed ...

And if there be more of eternity Let me be robbed.

Let me be clipped of that heritage And burned for ages through; Freed and stripped of my fear and rage-- But not of you.

MATER IN EXTREMIS

I stand between them and the outer winds, But I am a crumbling wall.