Beyond the deep-cut window
The bars are heaped with snow,
And seven little sparrows
Are sitting in a row.
Fluffy blur of snowflakes;
Dappled haze of light;
The narrow prison vista
Is all awhirl with white.
Seven little sparrows
Ruffled brown and grey
Snuggled close against the bars—
And this is Christmas day!
SALAAM!
Serene, complacent, satisfied,
Content with things that be;
The paragon of paltriness
Upraised for all to see;
With loving pride he cherishes
His mediocrity!
The smirking, ass-like multitudes
Cringe down at his command.
With wagging ears and blinded eyes
They do not understand.
With pride they show each shackled wrist
And on each brow the brand.
The young, the old, the great, the small
Give homage—all supine.
Fond parents bring their children there
As to some holy shrine.
And every one the Beast transforms
From human into swine!
Well praised are they—rewarded well—
Who on their shoulders bore
The gilded Thing that all the mob
Fawned in the dust before.
And each that did obeisance there
Was naked like a whore.
The poet with his teeming song,
The wise his deep-delved lore,
The maiden with her tender flesh,
The strong his sturdy store:
Each yielded all he had to give;
No harlot could do more.
Is there not one to share with me
The shame and wrath I own?
Is there not one to curse that Thing
Or pick up stones to stone—
To rend and wreck and raze to earth—
Or do I stand alone?