CONTENTS
SINGERIE
SUMMER afternoon in Hell!
Down the empty street it fell,
Pantaloon and Scaramouche—
Tongues like flames and shadows louche—
Flickered down the street together
In the spangled weather.
Flames, bright singing-birds that pass,
Whistled wares as shrill as grass
(Landscapes clear as glittering glass),
Whistled all together:
Papagei, oh Papagei,
Buy our greenest fruits, oh buy,
Melons misty from the bloom
Of mellow moons on some hot night,
Melting in the August light;
Apples like an emerald shower;
Nectarines that falling boom
On the grass in greenest gloom;
Peaches bright as parrot’s feather
Glistening from the moon’s bower;
Chequered like fritillaries,
Fat and red are strawberries.
Parrot-voices shrill together—
Now they pelt each monkey-face
(Pantaloon with simian grace)
From the soft gloom till they smother
Both the plumed head-dresses
With the green fruit-gems that glitter
(Twinkling sharp sounds like a zither).
Sharp each bird-tongue shrills and hisses,
Parrot-voices shrieking bane;—
Down comes every spangled shutter
With a sudden noise like rain.
THE AVENUE
IN the huge and glassy room,
Pantaloon, with his tail-feather
Spangled like the weather,
Panached, too, with many a plume,
Watched the monkey Fanfreluche,
Shivering in his gilded ruche,
Fawn upon the piano keys—
Flatter till they answer back,
Through the scale of centuries,
Difference between white and black.
Winds like hurricanes of light
Change the blackest vacuums
To a light-barred avenue—
Semitones of might and right;
Then, from matter, life comes.
Down that lengthy avenue
Leading us we know not where,
Sudden views creep through the air;
Oh the keys we stumble through!
Jungles splashed with violent light,
Promenades all hard and bright,
Long tails like the swish of seas,
Avenue of piano keys.
Meaning comes to bind the whole,
Fingers separate from thumbs,
Soon the shapeless tune comes:
Bestial efforts at man’s soul.
What though notes are false and shrill—
Black streets tumbling down a hill?
Fundamentally
I am you, and you are me—
Octaves fall as emptily.
MANDOLINE
DOWN in Hell’s gilded street,
Snow dances fleet and sweet,
Bright as a parokeet,
Or Punchinello,
All glistening yellow,
As fruit-jewels mellow,