Within your magic web of hair, lies furled The fire and splendour of the ancient world; The dire gold of the comet's wind-blown hair; The songs that … - Edith Sitwell

I am an unpopular electric eel in a pool of catfish.

The busy chatter of the heat Shrilled like a parakeet; And shuddering at the noonday light The dust lay dead and white As powder on a mummy's face, Or fawned with simian grace Round booths with many a hard bright toy And wooden brittle joy: The cap and bells of Time the Clown That, jangling, whistled down Young cherubs hidden in the guise Of every bird that flies; And star-bright masks for youth to wear, Lest any dream that fare — Bright pilgrim — past our ken, should see Hints of Reality.

The living blind and seeing Dead together lie
As if in love . . . There was no more hating then,
And no more love; Gone is the heart of Man.