Burbank With A Baedeker: Bleistein With A Cigar Analysis

   Tra-la-la-la-la-la-laire--nil nisi divinum stabile

   est; caetera fumus--the gondola stopped, the old

   palace was there, how charming its grey and pink--

   goats and monkeys, with such hair too!--so the

   countess passed on until she came through the

   little park, where Niobe presented her with a

   cabinet, and so departed.





Burbank crossed a little bridge

  Descending at a small hotel;

Princess Volupine arrived,

  They were together, and he fell.



Defunctive music under sea

  Passed seaward with the passing bell

Slowly: the God Hercules

  Had left him, that had loved him well.



The horses, under the axletree

  Beat up the dawn from Istria

With even feet. Her shuttered barge

  Burned on the water all the day.



But this or such was Bleistein's way:

  A saggy bending of the knees

And elbows, with the palms turned out,

  Chicago Semite Viennese.



A lustreless protrusive eye

  Stares from the protozoic slime

At a perspective of Canaletto.

  The smoky candle end of time



Declines. On the Rialto once.

  The rats are underneath the piles.

The jew is underneath the lot.

  Money in furs. The boatman smiles,



Princess Volupine extends

  A meagre, blue-nailed, phthisic hand

To climb the waterstair. Lights, lights,

  She entertains Sir Ferdinand



Klein. Who clipped the lion's wings

  And flea'd his rump and pared his claws?

Thought Burbank, meditating on

  Time's ruins, and the seven laws.

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