["Therefore is the Name of it called Babel"]
[Twentieth-Century Harlequinade]
[This Generation]
[Sheep-Song]
[The Poet's Lament]
[Judas and the Profiteer]
[Rhapsode]
[The Modern Abraham]
[The Trap]
[The Eternal Club]
[Heaven]
[The Blind Pedlar]
[Hymn to Moloch]
[Armchair]
[Ragtime]
[Peace Celebration]
[The Next War]
BOOK I
THE PHOENIX-FEASTERS
To EDITH
THE PHOENIX-FEASTERS
PART I
PRELUDE
We have wandered through the dim valleys of sleep
—That lie so still and far—
Have bathed in the lakes of silence,
Where each star
Shines brighter than its own reflection in the heavens;
Where, diving deep,
My soul has sought to catch and keep
The silver feathers of the moon
That float like down upon the waters,
In whose pale rest
We find
Forgetfulness of death
That comes so soon
—Waters that lull the mind
With some sweet breath
Of wind, of flowers,
With summer showers of rain,
Or quicken it with recreative pain.
We have fled further from this leaden cage,
Seeking those rainbow forests,
Where the light
Thrills through you, shaking, fainting, with delight;
Where sway tall luminous trees
Wind-swept in one vast flashing harmony,
That like a wave
Splashes its seething sound
And then envelops you.
We have strayed to other places,
Courts of fear,
That stretch like echoes through the endless dusk
Drenched with dead memories;
Like musk
They cling about you
In a heavy cloud.
Each shadow-sound we hear
Clutches the heart.
With fevered hands we tear
The terror-pulsing walls
—Fight our way out
—Out
Into other Courts
As vague and full of fear.
And we have found the proud and distant palaces of night.