PEDAGOGUES AND FLOWER-SHOWS

TALL cranes with wooden bodices Stuffed full of shadow odyssies. They hiss like geese through schoolroom bars At the bright flower-show of the stars. The houses (children’s bricks) float by On swords of moonshine, cry and sigh. The schoolmen spray with glittering laughter This flower-show, budding strangely after. “Our map-like cheeks are painted red Where sawdust gods were pierced and bled “By all this moonshine, and we feel Blood should be dry,”—Erazureel Cried; “Blue, pink, yellow planets, bright Flowers frilled as seas breathe in the night; These frillèd pinks, so neat and nice, We’ll teach to turn the world to ice. Our science then can soon inure The stars to blossom from manure; The world will be all map-like, plain As our lined cheeks, and once again The soul (moot point) will scarce intrude Its lack of depth and magnitude!”