Is your card, the drowned Phoeni Sailor,
(Those are pearls that were his eyes. Look!)
Here is Belladonna, the Lady of the Rocks,
The lady of situations.
Here is the man with three staves, ahe Wheel,
And here is the one-eyed mert, 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 horosyself:
One must be so careful these days.
Unreal City,
Uhe brown fog of a winter dawn,
A crowd flowed over Londe, 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, g "Stetson!
"You who were with me in the ships at Mylae!
"That corpse you planted last year in yarden,
"Has it begun to sprout? Will it bloom this year?
"Or has the sudden frost disturbed its bed?
"Oh keep the Dog far hehats friend to men,
"Or with his nails hell dig it up again!
"You! hypocrite lecteur! - mon semblable, - mon frere!"