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An enigma
"Seldom we find," says Solomon Don Dunce, "Half an idea in the profoundest sonnet. Through all the flimsy things we see at once As easily as through a Naples bonnet- Trash of all trash!- how can a lady don it? Yet heavier far than your Petrarchan stuff- Owl-downy nonsense that the faintest puff Twirls into trunk-paper the while you con it." And, veritably, Sol is right enough. The general tuckermanities are arrant Bubbles- ephemeral and so transparent- But this is, now- you may depend upon it- Stable, opaque, immortal- all by dint Of the dear names that he concealed within 't.
spedisci salva scarica sposta elimina brutta non male bella commenta
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Dream-confused
Is that the moon At the window so big and red? No-one in the room? No-one near the bed?
Listen, her shoon Palpitating down the stair! - Or a best of wings at the window there?
A moment ago She kissed me warm on the mouth; The very moon in the south Is warm with a ruddy glow; The moon, from far abysses Signalling those two kisses.
And now the moon Goes clouded, having misunderstood. And slowly back in my blood My kisses are sinking, soon To be under the flood.
spedisci salva scarica sposta elimina brutta non male bella commenta
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A far cry from Africa
A wind is ruffling the tawny pelt Of Africa. Kikuyu, quick as flies, Batten upon the bloodstreams of the veldt. Corposes are scattered through a paradise. Only the worm, colonel of carrion, cries: «Waste no conpassion on these separate dead!». Statistics justify and scholars seize The salients of colonial policy. What is that to the white child hacked in bed? To savages, expendable as Jews?
>Threshed out by beaters, the long rushes break In a white dust of ibises whose cries Have wheeled since civilization's dawn From the parched river or beast-teeming plain. The violence of best on beast is read As natural law, but upright man Seeks his divinity by inflicting pain. Delirious as these worried beasts, his wars Dance to the tightened carcass of a drum, While he calls courage still that native dread Of the white peace contracted by the dead.
Again brutish necessity wipes its hands Upon the napkin of a dirty cause, again A waste of our compassion, as with Spain, The gorilla wrestles with the superman. I who am poisoned with the blood of both, Where shall I turn, divided to the vein? I who have cursed The drunken officer of British rule, how choose Between this Africa and the English tongue I love? Betray them both, or give back what they give? How can I face such slaughter and be cool? How can I turn from Africa and live?
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