@3It's not a city, it's a world@1 -It is the sea: dead calm-and the spring tide With a far-off roaring has departed. The surge will come back rolling in its noise- Do you hear the scratching of the crabs of night? -It is the Styx run dry: The ragpicker Diogenes, Lantern in hand, roams about unperturbed. All along the black stream depraved poets Fish; from empty skulls they bait their lines. -It is the field: To glean the dirty rags The turning flight of hideous Harpies swoops; The alley cat, on the lookout for rats, Flees Bondy's criminal sons, nocturnal vintagers. -It is death: Here lie the police. -Up there, love Siestas, sucking the meat of a heavy arm Where the quenched kiss leaves its red mark . . . The hour is alone-Listen . . . not a dream is moving. -It is life: Listen: the live stream is singing The eternal song on the slimy head Of a sea-god stretching his limbs naked and green On a bed of the Morgue . . . With his eyes wide open! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ELEONORA; A PANEGYRICAL POEM by JOHN DRYDEN ESTONIAN BRIDAL SONG by JOHANN GOTTFRIED VON HERDER THE OLD MAN AND JIM by JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY THE LOVE OF GOD by ELIZA SCUDDER TO THE FOUR COURTS, PLEASE by JAMES STEPHENS IN MEMORIAM A.H.H.: 14 by ALFRED TENNYSON ECCLESIASTICAL SONNETS: PART 3: 5. WALTON'S BOOK OF LIVE by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH |