The World’s Tragedy

THE BLUE DWARF. 8I In this flask of crystal lurks Bruised virility of Turks, Boiled with wine and ambergris — Every drop an hour of bliss ! This cornelian box contains Datura-seeds and sparrow-brains, Mixed and smoothed with asses’ fat. Here the marrow of a bat Concecrated by a wizard And the seed-cells of a lizard Banned by a Thessalian witch, Lie like twins — royally rich In this casket wrought with gems Fit for Mogul diadems. MIRIAM O dogs, kings, gods, begone ! Bone splits from bone. I am ripped up like a sweating sow On the horn of a buffalo ! What care I for your gifts, unless They might relieve this wretchedness ? God ! I am split asunder Like a cloud by a clap of thunder !