Art of days art of nights The scale of wounds called Pardon Red scale that quivers under the weight of a wing When the snow-necked horsemen with empty hands Push their vaporous chariots across the meadows I see this scale jumping madly up and down I see the graceful ibis Returning from the pool laced within my heart The wheels of the charming dream and its splendid ruts Mounting high upon the shells of their dresses And surprise bounding wildly over the sea Depart my darling dawn forget nothing of my life Take these roses creeping in the mirror-well Take every beating of every lid Take everything down to the threads that hold the steps of rope and waterdrop dancers Art of days art of nights I stand before a distant window in a city filled with horror Outside men with stovepipe hats follow one another at regular intervals Like the rains I loved When the weather was fine The Wrath of God was the name of the cabaret I entered last night It was written on the white façade in even whiter letters But the mermaids gliding behind the windows Are too happy to be afraid Never bodies here always the assassin without proof Never the sky always the silence Never freedom but for freedom | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE RUSTIC LAD'S LAMENT IN THE TOWN by DAVID MACBETH MOIR OUR MASTER by JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER THE GLOW-WORM by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH HEINE'S GRAVE by MATTHEW ARNOLD TO A CHILD by GEORGE BARLOW (1847-1913) |