No More Learning

Lui pense aux pourboires, et redige son bilan.
Ils auront vu la Suisse et traverse la France.
Et Saint Apollinaire, raide et ascetique,
Vieille usine desaffectee de Dieu, tient encore
Dans ses pierres ecroulantes la forme precise de Byzance.




The Hippopotamus

Similiter et omnes revereantur Diaconos, ut
mandatum Jesu Christi; et Episcopum, ut Jesum
Christum, existentem filium Patris; Presbyteros
autem, ut concilium Dei et conjunctionem
Apostolorum. Sine his Ecclesia non vocatur; de
quibus suadeo vos sic habeo.

S. IGNATII AD TRALLIANOS.

And when this epistle is read among you, cause
that it be read also in the church of the
Laodiceans.


The broad-backed hippopotamus
Rests on his belly in the mud;
Although he seems so firm to us
He is merely flesh and blood.

Flesh-and-blood is weak and frail,
Susceptible to nervous shock;
While the True Church can never fail
For it is based upon a rock.

The hippo's feeble steps may err
In compassing material ends,
While the True Church need never stir
To gather in its dividends.

The 'potamus can never reach
The mango on the mango-tree;
But fruits of pomegranate and peach
Refresh the Church from over sea.

At mating time the hippo's voice
Betrays inflexions hoarse and odd,
But every week we hear rejoice
The Church, at being one with God.

The hippopotamus's day
Is passed in sleep; at night he hunts;
God works in a mysterious way-
The Church can sleep and feed at once.

I saw the 'potamus take wing
Ascending from the damp savannas,
And quiring angels round him sing
The praise of God, in loud hosannas.
Blood of the Lamb shall wash him clean
And him shall heavenly arms enfold,
Among the saints he shall be seen
Performing on a harp of gold.

He shall be washed as white as snow,
By all the martyr'd virgins kiss,
While the True Church remains below
Wrapt in the old miasmal mist.




Dans le Restaurant

Le garcon delabre qui n'a rien a faire
Que de se gratter les doigts et se pencher sur mon epaule:
"Dans mon pays il fera temps pluvieux,
Du vent, du grand soleil, et de la pluie;
C'est ce qu'on appelle le jour de lessive des gueux. "
(Bavard, baveux, a la croupe arrondie,
Je te prie, au moins, ne bave pas dans la soupe).
"Les saules trempes, et des bourgeons sur les ronces--
C'est la, dans une averse, qu'on s'abrite.
J'avais septtans, elle etait plus petite.
Elle etait toute mouillee, je lui ai donne des primaveres. "
Les taches de son gilet montent au chiffre de trente-huit.
"Je la chatouillais, pour la faire rire.
J'eprouvais un instant de puissance et de delire. "

Mais alors, vieux lubrique, a cet age. . .
"Monsieur, le fait est dur.
Il est venu, nous peloter, un gros chien;
Moi j'avais peur, je l'ai quittee a mi-chemin.
C'est dommage.