The obscene hostess, mincing in the hall,
Gathers the guests around a crystal ball.
It is on the whole an exciting moment;
Mrs.
Lefevre stares with her one good eye;
A friendly abdomen rubs against one’s back; “Interesting,” a portly man is heard to sigh.
A somewhat unconvincing oriental leers Redundantly; into the globe he peers,
Mutters a word or two and stands aside.
The glass grows cloudy with sulphorous fumes;
Beads rattle, latecomers giggle near the door.
A scene forms in the glass; silence invades the rooms.
The oriental glances up, conceals surprise At such immediate success.
Our eyes Stare at the planes that fill the swelling globe,
Smoke-blue; blood, shelltorn faces.
Suddenly a drum Begins its steady beat, pursues us even here:
Death, and death again, and all the wars to come.
