SHADOWS

There's a city wrought of shadows That I glimpse at fall of night, And its streets are filled with phantoms Flitting furtively from sight. They are of no stable semblance That our fancy might devise, But a baleful light is burning In their slanting, almond eyes. Every brow is pale and misty, With a thin-lipped mouth beneath, And the grinding jaws are ratlike— Set with long and pointed teeth. Neither rage nor ancient evil Nor a curse bequeaths its stain, But each face is wryly twisted In a silent grin of pain. Not a sign of hope or hatred In that dull grimace is blent— Like the fishes four accursed, With their pain they are content. Mother of all elder anguish, Mighty, sinister and fair, Great Cathay, with woes of aeons In the burdens that you bear, Tell me of your wrath-built Babel Piled up from a primal day; Tell me, too, when late-learned mercy Shall the shadows sweep away!