The Party

The obscene hostess, mincing in the hall,

Gathers the guests around a crystal ball.

It is on the whole an exciting moment;

Mrs. Lefevre stares with her one good eye;

A friendly abdomen rubs against one’s back;

“Interesting,” a portly man is heard to sigh.

A somewhat unconvincing oriental leers

Redundantly; into the globe he peers,

Mutters a word or two and stands aside.

The glass grows cloudy with sulphorous fumes;

Beads rattle, latecomers giggle near the door.

A scene forms in the glass; silence invades the rooms.

The oriental glances up, conceals surprise

At such immediate success. Our eyes

Stare at the planes that fill the swelling globe,

Smoke-blue; blood, shelltorn faces. Suddenly a drum

Begins its steady beat, pursues us even here:

Death, and death again, and all the wars to come.