II. IN A CHAIR

From the bright and blinding sunshine,

From the whirling locust's song,

Into the dark and narrow fissures

Of the streets I am borne along.

Here and there dusky-beaming

A sun-shaft broadens and drops

On the brown bare crowd slow-passing

The crowd of the open shops.

We move on over the bridges

With their straight-hewn blocks of stone.

And their quaint grey animal figures,

And the booths the hucksters own.

Behind a linen awning

Sits an ancient wight half-dead,

And a little dear of a girl is

Examining — his head.

On a bended bamboo shouldered,

Bearing a block of stone,

Two worn-out coolies half-naked

Utter their grunting groan.

Children, almond-eyed beauties,

Impossibly mangy curs,

Take part in the motley stream of

Insouciant passengers.

This is the dream, the vision

That comes to me and greets —

The vision of Retribution

In the labyrinthine streets!