1 A. M.

Look how they struggle in a mist of fire,

Those hunchbacked chimneys and distorted domes —

Now gloat on Hell, the colour seems to roar,

An army fierce upon its own destruction,

A famished monster tearing in its claws

Gigantic foods to glut its lean desire

Digesting all the world!...

Look at the eager people open-mouthed

That stand as foolish rabbits hypnotised

By the uncoiling rhythm of a snake,

Their earth adoring senses caught awhile

In the red whirlwind of ascending wings;

Their spirits straining upward upon strings

Like kites and air balloons, but more grotesque,

Lacking the ephemeral beauty of a toy —

Yet for an hour

Dyed with the colour that their drabness fears

They kiss the feet of beauty as she passes

Starwards, tremendous in a coat of fire.