| |
| BURBANK crossed a little bridge | |
| Descending at a small hotel; | |
| Princess Volupine arrived, | |
| They were together, and he fell. | |
| |
| Defunctive music under sea | 5 |
| 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 | 10 |
| 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, | 15 |
| Chicago Semite Viennese. | |
| |
| A lustreless protrusive eye | |
| Stares from the protozoic slime | |
| At a perspective of Canaletto. | |
| The smoky candle end of time | 20 |
| |
| 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 | 25 |
| 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? | 30 |
| Thought Burbank, meditating on | |
| Time’s ruins, and the seven laws. | |
| |
