Against the starry flanks there flow
The milks and silks of ocean
With bleak drowned songs of palaces
To bank the tiger’s motion.
Illuminated cities deep
In twilight’s eyes are burning
As cold as glaciers of the age
To which the years are turning.
The windows show their golden teeth,
The Christmas bells are weaving,
With peace on earth, an orchestra
Along the side streets grieving.
Through Woolworth halls the future stalks,
Profounder grows the meaning
Of leaden elbows of its wars
On toy-filled counters leaning.
The black look of the cannon’s eye
Is hanging on the headline,
As black a moon as man shall know
From windows of the breadline.
No snow shall close the bugle’s mouth
Though now the snow is falling,
While time with flame-rimmed eyeballs sees
The livid skyline sprawling.
The gold black locks of conscience stir,
The wind is rising higher;
The planet, to the brow, in snow
Revolves around a fire
That none shall quench erosion of
But more and more forgiving
When from the rock of consciousness
There gush the wells of living.
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