 | Phantasmagoria |  |
46
The Moonlight City.
Piles titanic, tier on tier of marbly buildings,
Spheric domes of lead that burn like lazulite,
Needly slated spires the full moon gilding
Makes each an inverted stalactite!
Bronzy dolphins, and reposing lions
Dream gigantic dreams:
Roads that flash like gemmed Orion's
Belt of beams!
Spheric domes of lead that burn like lazulite,
Needly slated spires the full moon gilding
Makes each an inverted stalactite!
Bronzy dolphins, and reposing lions
Dream gigantic dreams:
Roads that flash like gemmed Orion's
Belt of beams!
Round the massy plinth of many a fluted pillar
Wheel the giddy throngs in mazy shadow-dance
Like dead leaves in autumn, only stiller,—
Whirling atoms in the void of chance:
Each one with his shadow on the paving
Flits a spectral form,
Every soul a maniac raving
In a storm,
Wheel the giddy throngs in mazy shadow-dance
Like dead leaves in autumn, only stiller,—
Whirling atoms in the void of chance:
Each one with his shadow on the paving
Flits a spectral form,
Every soul a maniac raving
In a storm,
Raving, but in silence deep, the proud compression
That the weakest learn in stoic modern life,
Which of torture offers less confession
Than the Indian to the scalping knife,
Proudly smiling on the demon raking
For the life-roots of the heart,
Heart which all the while is breaking—
But apart.
That the weakest learn in stoic modern life,
Which of torture offers less confession
Than the Indian to the scalping knife,
Proudly smiling on the demon raking
For the life-roots of the heart,
Heart which all the while is breaking—
But apart.
47
Flaunting, fluttering damsels, dizened out in golden
Draperies of silk that rustle o'er the stones,
Sweet young faces prematurely olden,
Lips that move with little plaintive moans,
Crimson aigrets tufted on each bonnet,
Round each finger bright
Facets, that refract upon it
Rainbow light!
Draperies of silk that rustle o'er the stones,
Sweet young faces prematurely olden,
Lips that move with little plaintive moans,
Crimson aigrets tufted on each bonnet,
Round each finger bright
Facets, that refract upon it
Rainbow light!
Pretty crimson shoes, and pretty crimson stockings,
Vulgar latest ditties of the music-hall:
Pert lips pouting into pretty mockings
Let the fragrant rolled narcotic fall:
And the sparks are stamped, and trodden under
Like the lives of these:
Careless of the high god's thunder
On the seas.
Vulgar latest ditties of the music-hall:
Pert lips pouting into pretty mockings
Let the fragrant rolled narcotic fall:
And the sparks are stamped, and trodden under
Like the lives of these:
Careless of the high god's thunder
On the seas.
“Pity! here's a fine thing: who are you to pity?
Have you nothing on your conscience, modern saint?
Can you thread at peace the seething city?
See you here mere powder and mere paint?”
Nay, alas! I see wronged fellow mortals,
Human hearts and lives,
Cast forth from the world's hard portals,
Daughters, wives.
Have you nothing on your conscience, modern saint?
Can you thread at peace the seething city?
See you here mere powder and mere paint?”
Nay, alas! I see wronged fellow mortals,
Human hearts and lives,
Cast forth from the world's hard portals,
Daughters, wives.
“And the lamp-lit bridges, look you, and the river—
Can you swear none ever drank that wave for you?
There 'mid cold electric swirl and shiver
Of the sheeny eddies white and blue,
There, just there, in the ghastly tides albescence,
Hands, and lips that grin,
Reach out from wild phosphorescence
For thy sin!”
Can you swear none ever drank that wave for you?
There 'mid cold electric swirl and shiver
Of the sheeny eddies white and blue,
There, just there, in the ghastly tides albescence,
Hands, and lips that grin,
Reach out from wild phosphorescence
For thy sin!”
48
Go, the wine cup lays old memory's ghost uneasy,
Keeps him quiet in the cere-cloths safely strapt.
If he walk, 'twill be among the breezy
Curling mist-rings of the wine-fume wrapt.
Pour the frothing liquor in the glasses!
'Neath its drowsier sway,
Dream of hills and mountain-passes
Far away.
Keeps him quiet in the cere-cloths safely strapt.
If he walk, 'twill be among the breezy
Curling mist-rings of the wine-fume wrapt.
Pour the frothing liquor in the glasses!
'Neath its drowsier sway,
Dream of hills and mountain-passes
Far away.
March 25th, 1885.
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