Staggering homeward between the stream and the trees the unhappy br drunkard br Babbles a woeful song and babbles br The end of the world, the moon's like fired Troy in a flying br cloud, the storm br Rises again, the stream's in flood. br The moon's like the sack of Carthage, the Bastile's broken, pedlars br and empires br Still deal in luxury, men sleep in prison. br Old Saturn thinks it was better in his grandsire's time but that's br from the brittle br Arteries, it neither betters nor worsens. br (Nobody knows my love the falcon.) br It has always bristled with phantoms, always factitious, mildly absurd; br The organism, with no precipitous br Degeneration, slight imperceptible discounts of sense and faculty, br Adapts itself to the culture-medium. br (Nobody crawls to the test-tube rim, br Nobody knows my love the falcon.) br The star's on the mountain, the stream snoring in flood; the brain-lit br drunkard br Crosses midnight and stammers to bed. br The inhuman nobility of things, the ecstatic beauty, the inveterate br steadfastness br Uphold the four posts of the bed. br (Nobody knows my love the falcon.