* * * * *
Her crystal cage moves on. Stagnation
Now thaws again to animation;
Gladly the world receives reprieve
Till six o'clock to-morrow eve,
When punctual as the sun, she'll drive
Life out of everything alive,
Then in gigantic glory, fade
Sunward, through the western glade....
IV. ULTIMATE JUDGMENT
Within the sunny greenness of the close,
Secure, a heavy breathing fell, then rose—
Here undulating chins sway to and fro,
As heavy blossoms do; the cheek's faint glow
Points to post-prandial port. The willow weeps
Hushed are the birds—in fact—the Bishop sleeps.
Then, suddenly, the wide sky blazes red;
Up from their graves arise the solemn dead,
The world is shaken; buildings fall in twain,
Exulting hills shout loud, then shout again
While, with the thunder of deep rolling drums
The angels sing—— At last Salvation comes.
The weak, the humble, the disdained, the poor
Are judged the first, and climb to Heaven's door.
* * * * * *
The Bishop wakes to see his palace crash
Down on the rocking ground—but in a flash
It dawns upon him;—with impressive frown,
He sees his second-housemaid in a crown,
In rainbow robes that glisten like a prism
"I warned them..." said the Bishop—
"Bolshevism!"
V. AN OLD-FASHIONED SPORTSMAN
We thank thee,
O Lord,
That the War is over.
We can now
Turn our attention
Again
To money-making.
Railway-Shares must go up;
Wages must come down;
Smoke shall come out
Of the chimneys of the North,
And we will manufacture battle-ships.
We thank thee, O Lord,
But we must refuse
To consider
Music, Painting, or Poetry.
Our sons and brothers
Went forth to fight,
To kill certain things,
Cubism, Futurism and Vers-libre
"All this Poetry-and-Rubbish,"
We said
"Will not stand the test of war."
We will not read a book
—Unless it is a best seller.
There has been enough art
In the past,
Life is concerned
With killing and maiming.
If they cannot kill men
Why can't they kill animals?