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Equinox I (04).pdf

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XXXI<br />

FROM God’s sweet air Sir Palamede<br />

Hath come unto a demon bog,<br />

A city where but rats may breed<br />

In sewer-stench and fetid fog.<br />

Within its heart pale phantoms crawl.<br />

Breathless with foolish haste they jog<br />

And jostle, all for naught! They scrawl<br />

Vain things all night that they disown<br />

Ere day. They call and bawl and squall<br />

Hoarse cries; they moan, they groan. A stone<br />

Hath better sense! And these among<br />

A cabbage-headed god they own,<br />

With wandering eye and jabbering tongue.<br />

He, rotting in that grimy sewer<br />

And charnel-house of death and dung,<br />

Shrieks: “How the air is sweet and pure!<br />

Give me the entrails of a frog<br />

And I will teach thee! Lo! the lure<br />

81

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