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Four in the Morning

by
 Cried the navy-blue ghost
Of Mr.
Belaker The allegro Negro cocktail-shaker, "Why did the cock crow, Why am I lost, Down the endless road to Infinity toss'd? The tropical leaves are whispering white As water; I race the wind in my flight.
The white lace houses are carried away By the tide; far out they float and sway.
White is the nursemaid on the parade.
Is she real, as she flirts with me unafraid? I raced through the leaves as white as water.
.
.
Ghostly, flowed over the nursemaid, caught her, Left her.
.
.
edging the far-off sand Is the foam of the sirens' Metropole and Grand; And along the parade I am blown and lost, Down the endless road to Infinity toss'd.
The guinea-fowl-plumaged houses sleep.
.
.
On one, I saw the lone grass weep, Where only the whimpering greyhound wind Chased me, raced me, for what it could find.
" And there in the black and furry boughs How slowly, coldly, old Time grows, Where the pigeons smelling of gingerbread, And the spectacled owls so deeply read, And the sweet ring-doves of curded milk Watch the Infanta's gown of silk In the ghost-room tall where the governante Gesticulates lente and walks andante.
'Madam, Princesses must be obedient; For a medicine now becomes expedient-- Of five ingredients--a diapente, Said the governante, fading lente.
.
.
In at the window then looked he, The navy-blue ghost of Mr.
Belaker, The allegro Negro cocktail-shaker-- And his flattened face like the moon saw she-- Rhinoceros-black (a flowing sea!).

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