Classic Poem

Under a brooding, coal-black pall
(Its depths lit up by the furnace-glare)
Thou liest fenced with a gateless wall;
A chimneyed cordon rings thy lair.

A spider of stone and steel and glass,
Thou swayest thy tangled web of wires:
Thou settest snares which none may pass
With a subtle skill that never tires.

A dragon, wingless, gorged with food,
Thou crouchest o'er thy ravined gains,
With gas and water for the blood
Which courses through thy iron veins.

Thou who at once art fair and foul,
Hast built thee palaces wrought of gold,
And jewelled brothels, cheek by jowl
With the hoary monuments of old

Yet art thou sure thou wilt not list
To tocsin rung amid those halls
Where now thy courtesans hold tryst
With those who batten on thy thralls?

Hark, thy taverns ring again
With the mirthless laughter of debauch—
Of those who seek to drown their pain
In fiery depths which sear and scorch.


O wondrous city, 'spite thy glance
Of snake-like fascination, thou
Hast forged weapons which perchance
Are poison to strike thee even now.