_Tra la la la la la laire—nil nisi divinum stabile est; cætera fumus—the gondola stopped the old palace was there How charming it’s grey & pink—Goats & monkeys, with such hair too!—so the Countess passed on until she came through the little park, where Niobe presented her with a cabinet, & so departed._ Burbank crossed a little bridge Descending at a small hotel; Princess Volupine arrived, They were together, and he fell. Defunctive music under sea Passed seaward with the passing bell Slowly: the god Hercules Had left him, that had loved him well. The horses, under the axletree Beat up the dawn from Istria With even feet. Her shuttered barge Burned on the water all the day. But this or such was Bleistein’s way: A saggy bending of the knees And elbows, with the palms turned out, Chicago Semite Viennese. A lustreless protrusive eye Stares from the protozoic slime At a perspective of Canaletto. The smoky candle end of time Declines. On the Rialto once. The rats are underneath the piles. The jew is underneath the lot. Money in furs. The boatman smiles, Princess Volupine extends A meagre, blue-nailed, phthisic hand To climb the waterstair. Lights, lights, She entertains Sir Ferdinand Klein. Who clipped the lion’s wings And flea’d his rump and pared his claws? —Thought Burbank, meditating on Time’s ruins, and the seven laws. SWEENEY AMONG THE NIGHTINGALES ὤμοι, πέπληγμαι καιρίαν πγελὴν ἔσω WHY SHOULD I SPEAK OF THE NIGHTINGALE? THE NIGHTINGALE SINGS OF ADULTEROUS WRONG. Apeneck Sweeney spreads his knees Letting his arms hang down to laugh, The zebra stripes along his jaw Swelling to maculate giraffe. The circles of the stormy moon Slide westward to the River Plate, Death and the Raven drift above And Sweeney guards the horned gate. Gloomy Orion and the Dog Are veiled; and hushed the shrunken seas; The person in the Spanish cape Tries to sit on Sweeney’s knees Slips and pulls the table cloth Overturns a coffee cup, Reorganised upon the floor She yawns and draws a stocking up; The silent man in mocha brown Sprawls at the window sill and gapes; The waiter brings in oranges, Bananas, figs and hot-house grapes; The silent vertebrate exhales, Contracts and concentrates, withdraws; Rachel née Rabinovitch Tears at the grapes with murderous paws; She and the lady in the cape Are suspect, thought to be in league; Therefore the man with heavy eyes Declines the gambit, shows fatigue, Leaves the room and reappears Outside the window, leaning in, Branches of wistaria Circumscribe a golden grin;