The black telephone's off at the root,
A purpose more obscure. I wonder who
All the dogs of Europe bark,
And for a hundred visions and revisions,
The place of fame and elegy supply:
Asleep . . . tired . . . or it malingers,
there savage whips had left cruel scars
Of profit, power, gain, of grab the land!
Me found and stript me nakèd.
After the sunsets and the dooryards and the sprinkled streets,
The black telephone's off at the root,
A purpose more obscure. I wonder who
All the dogs of Europe bark,
And for a hundred visions and revisions,
The place of fame and elegy supply:
Asleep . . . tired . . . or it malingers,
there savage whips had left cruel scars
Of profit, power, gain, of grab the land!
Me found and stript me nakèd.
After the sunsets and the dooryards and the sprinkled streets,