SHADOWS

There's a city wrought of shadows

That I glimpse at fall of night,

And its streets are filled with phantoms

Flitting furtively from sight.

They are of no stable semblance

That our fancy might devise,

But a baleful light is burning

In their slanting, almond eyes.

Every brow is pale and misty,

With a thin-lipped mouth beneath,

And the grinding jaws are ratlike—

Set with long and pointed teeth.

Neither rage nor ancient evil

Nor a curse bequeaths its stain,

But each face is wryly twisted

In a silent grin of pain.

Not a sign of hope or hatred

In that dull grimace is blent—

Like the fishes four accursed,

With their pain they are content.

Mother of all elder anguish,

Mighty, sinister and fair,

Great Cathay, with woes of aeons

In the burdens that you bear,

Tell me of your wrath-built Babel

Piled up from a primal day;

Tell me, too, when late-learned mercy

Shall the shadows sweep away!