woman in Europe, With a wicked pack of cards. Here, said she, Is your card, the drowned Phoenician Sailor,   (Those are pearls that were his eyes. Look!)   Here is Belladonna, the Lady of the Rocks, The lady of situations. 50 Here is the man with three staves, and here the Wheel, And here is the one-eyed merchant, and this card, Which is blank, is something he carries on his back, Which I am forbidden to see. I do not find The Hanged Man. Fear death by water. I see crowds of people, walking round in a ring. Thank you. If you see dear Mrs. Equitone, Tell her I bring the horoscope myself:   One must be so careful these days.    Unreal City, 60 Under the brown fog of a winter dawn, A crowd flowed over London Bridge, so many, I had not thought death had undone so many. Sighs, short and infrequent, were exhaled, And each man fixed his eyes before his feet. Flowed up the hill and down King William Street, To where Saint Mary Woolnoth kept the hours With a dead sound on the final stroke of nine. There I saw one I knew, and stopped him, crying “Stetson!   “You who were with me in the ships at Mylae! 70   “That corpse you planted last year in your garden,   “Has it begun to sprout? Will it bloom this year?   “Or has the sudden frost disturbed its bed?   “Oh keep the Dog far hence, that’s friend to men,   “Or with his nails he’ll dig it up again!   “You! hypocrite lecteur!—mon semblable,—mon frère!” 

 

II. A GAME OF CHESS

   The Chair she sat in, like a burnished throne, Glowed on the marble, where the glass Held up by standards wrought with fruited vines From which a golden Cupidon peeped out 80   (Another hid his eyes behind his wing)   Doubled the flames of sevenbranched candelabra Reflecting light upon the table as   The glitter of her jewels rose to meet it, From satin cases poured in rich profusion. In vials of ivory and coloured glass Unstoppered, lurked her strange synthetic perfumes, Unguent, powdered, or liquid—troubled, confused And drowned the sense in odours; stirred by the air That freshened from the window, these ascended 90 In fattening the prolonged candle-flames, Flung their smoke into the laquearia, Stirring the pattern on the coffered ceiling. Huge sea-wood fed with copper Burned green and orange, framed by the coloured stone, In which sad light a carvèd dolphin swam. Above the antique mantel was displayed As though a window gave upon 

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