Little Poems in Prose

EPILOGUE With heart at peace I climbed the mountain trail Whence I could contemplate with quiet eyes The city: hospital, limbo, brothel, gaol, Where all iniquity opens flowerwise. O Satan, patron of my soul dismayed, You know I sought no refuge for vain sighs, But like an old pauper with his cinder-jade I coveted drunkenness from the mammoth trull Whose hell-born charms bring back my youth [that’s strayed. While you still sleep obscure and leaden dull, Clouted with morning, rheumy-eyed, or preen Yourself in gold-laced evening, veiled in full, I love you, infamous Capital! To quean And highwayman, you tender ravishment Which lurks unknown to those of common men. PIERRE LOVING.