See, fore and aft, life's craft undone! Crank plank, split spritsail--mark, sea's lark! That grey cold sea's old sprees, begun When men lay dark i' the ark, no spark, All water--just God's fun! VII Not bright, at best, his jest to these Seemed--screamed, shrieked, wreaked on kin for sin! When for mirth's yell earth's knell seemed please Some dumb new grim great whim in him Made Jews take chalk for cheese. VIII Could God's rods bruise God's Jews? Their jowls Bobbed, sobbed, gaped, aped the plaice in face: None heard, 'tis odds, his--God's--folk's howls. Now, how must I apply, to try This hookiest-beaked of owls? IX Well, I suppose God knows--I don't. Time's crimes mark dark men's types, in stripes Broad as fen's lands men's hands were wont Leave grieve unploughed, though proud and loud With birds' words--No! he won't! X One never should think good impossible. Eh? say I'd hide this Jew's oil's cruse-- His shop might hold bright gold, engrossible By spy--spring's air takes there no care To wave the heath-flower's glossy bell! XI But gold bells chime in time there, coined-- Gold! Old Sphinx winks there--"Read my screed!" Doctrine Jews learn, use, burn for, joined (Through new craft's stealth) with health and wealth-- At once all three purloined! XII I rose with dawn, to pawn, no doubt, (Miss this chance, glance untried aside?) John's shirt, my--no! Ay, so--the lout! Let yet the door gape, store on floor And not a soul about? XIII Such men lay traps, perhaps--and I'm Weak--meek--mild--child of woe, you know! But theft, I doubt, my lout calls crime. Shrink? Think! Love's dawn in pawn--you spawn Of Jewry! Just in time! V OFF THE PIER I One last glance at these sands and stones! Time goes past men, and lives to his liking, Steals, and ruins, and sometimes atones. Why should he be king, though, and why not I king? There now, that wind, like a swarm of sick drones! II Is it heaven or mere earth (come!) that moves so and moans? Oh, I knew, when you loved me, my soul was in flowerage-- Now the frost comes; from prime, though, I watched through to nones, Read love's litanies over--his age was not our age! No more flutes in this world for me now, dear! trombones. III All that youth once denied and made mouths at, age owns. Facts put fangs out and bite us; life stings and grows viperous; And time's fugues are a hubbub of meaningless tones. Once we followed the piper; now why not the piper us? Love, grown grey, plays mere solos; we want antiphones. IV And we sharpen our wits up with passions for hones, Melt down loadstars for magnets, use women for whetstones, Learn to bear with dead calms by remembering cyclones, Snap strings short with sharp thumbnails, till silence begets tones, Burn our souls out, shift spirits, turn skins and change zones; V