Be your pillow through the hot short night.
We are children lost together in a wood turned rock.
We are gods whose eyes are Wisdom, and Olympus is our mock.
Drowse into your Paradise! I say above the clock
“White—red—white—red—white!”
HYMN IN COLUMBUS CIRCLE
(After Seeing a Certain Window Display)
Man in his secret shrine
Hallows a wealth of gods,
Black little basalt Baals