@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...OLNEY HYMNS: 9. THE CONTRITE HEART by WILLIAM COWPER A BETTER RESURRECTION by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI FAR - FAR - AWAY (FOR MUSIC) by ALFRED TENNYSON HAUNTED by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH WHITE SNOW by GUILLAUME APOLLINAIRE |