The dull conclave of crows'-footed faces Twitches as the man with one dollar enters; It moves a soilured delicate hand, as if Displaying a marketable emotion on a string. Hear the tom-toms, smell the warm rank beer, See the curve of the synthetic waggle, Let ancient visions impinge the modern retina, Polish the image of a burnished Phrygia. For I have heard somewhere, on desolate And traditionally inspiring shores, Small ladies, possessing subtile bellies, knew heroes Whose creed brooked no chaste asyndeton; And somewhat later, in the cool of a fern wood, One heard the grimly clatter of shields Who threaded tapestries in the sheathing dark; The courtyard rang with a feutering of spears - The emotion is marketable indeed In spite of crows'-feet, which Strato doesn't mention: Showing the contemporary irrelevancy of myth And the understanding of a man with one dollar. Make gracious attempts at sanctifying Jenny, Supply cosmetics for the ordering of her frame, Think of her as Leda, as a goddess, Emptying a smile on Redkey, Indiana. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE BIRDS by WILLIAM CARLOS WILLIAMS WHITE FOR MOURNING by AL-FATA AL-KAFIF WILD GEESE by GEORGE LAWRENCE ANDREWS THE BATTLE OF CHARLESTOWN by HENRY HOWARD BROWNELL OLNEY HYMNS: 58. THE NEW CONVERT by WILLIAM COWPER THE BLACK RIDERS: 41 by STEPHEN CRANE |