And think themselves extremely wise
When any sense records its lies,
They mumble what they feel or hear,
Unmindful still of Paradise.

When I walked through the town last night
In vain they drew their curtains tight,
Through walls of brick I plainly saw
The imbecile, the troglodyte.

Paris, 1919


XIV

The change of many tides has swung the flow
Of those green weeds that cling like filthy fur
Upon the timbers of this voyager
That sank in the clear water long ago.
Whence did she sail? the sands of ages blur
The answer to the secret, and as though
They mocked and knew, sleek fishes, to and fro,
Trail their grey carrion shadows over her.
Coffer of all life gives and hides away,
It matters not if London or if Tyre
Sped you to sea on some remoter day;
Beneath your decks immutable desire
And hope and hate and envy still conspire,
While all the gaping faces nod and sway.