...
And in these dark cells,
packed street after street,
souls live, hideous yet—
O disfigured, defaced,
with no trace of the beauty
men once
held so light.
Can we think
a few old cells
were left—we
are left—
grains of
honey,
old dust of
stray pollen
dull on our
torn wings,
we are left
to recall the old streets?
Is our task
the less sweet
that the
larvae still sleep in their cells?
Or crawl out
to attack our frail strength:
You are
useless. We live.
We await
great events.
We are
spread through this earth.
We protect
our strong race.
You are
useless.
Your cell
takes the place
Of our young
future strength.
Though they
sleep or wake to torment
and wish to
displace our old cells—
thin rare
gold—
that their
larve grow fat—
is our task
the less sweet?
Though we
wander about,
find no
honey of flowers in this waste,
is our task
the less sweet—
who recall
the old splendour,
await the
new beauty of cities?
The city is
peopled
With
spirits, not ghosts, O my love:
Though they
crowded between
And usurped
the kiss of my mouth
their breath
was your gift,
their
beauty, your life.
Poet H.
D. 1886–1961
POET’S
REGION U.S., Mid-Atlantic
SCHOOL
/ PERIOD Imagist
Subjects Social Commentaries, Cities & Urban Life, Class
This
poem has inspired me to think of how cities are different to each other and how
this difference relates to the different types of people who live within each
city and their influences to make the city different or more beautiful with
structures of architecture and culture. But as time has passed the cities which
were once great have become darkened and lost its beauty.
