Sympathy of Peoples

No but come closer. Come a little Closer. Let the wall-eyed hornyhanded Panhandler hit you for a dime Sir and shiver. Snow like this Drives its pelting shadows over Bremen, Over sad Louvain and the eastern Marshes, the black wold. It sighs Into the cold sea of the north, That vast contemptuous revery between Antiquity and you. Turn up your collar, Pull your hatbrim down. Commune Briefly with your ignorant heart For those bewildered raging children Europe surrenders her old gentry to. All their eyes turn in the night from Your fretfulness and forgetfulness, Your talk; they turn away, friend. Their eyes dilated with dreams of power Fix on the image of the mob wet With blood scaling the gates of order. Anarchist and incendiary Caesar bind that brotherhood To use and crush the civil guard, Debauch the debauché, level Tenement and court with soaring Sideslipping squadrons and hard regiments, Stripped for the smoking levée of the Howitzer, thunderstruck under the net. The great mouth of hunger closes On swineherd and princess, on the air Of jongleur and forest bell; Grendel Swims from the foul deep again. Deputy, cartelist, academician Question in haste any plumeless captain Before the peremptory descent Of mankind, flattered and proud. With whitening morning on the waste You may discern through binoculars A long line of the shawled and frozen, Moving yet motionless, as if those Were populations whom the sun failed And the malicious moon enchanted To wander and be still forever The prey of wolves and bestial mazes.