Classic Poem

Quaint, agile thing, weird Caliban of my wall,
Thou must the marvelous miniature really be
Of mythical dragons fashioned to appal,
Who residence held in some forgotten sea!

Or yet, a more sacred, though irrelevant thing,
Once worshiped as God where now the Tudas flows;
Thou wert of Giva's body-hues the king;
Or p'raps the blushing chastity of a rose.

I watch thee weave thy sinuous, flocculent web,
Around the trunks of immemorial trees;
And often I have seen thy scintillant tissues ebb
Vague tides of silk round unoffensive fleas.

Then, all thy feculent majesty recalls
'The nauseous mustiness of forsaken bowers,
The leprous nudity of deserted halls—
The positive nastiness of sullied flowers.

And as I mark the colors yellow and black
That fresco thy lithe, dictatorial thighs,
I dream and wander on my drunken back,
How God could possibly have created flies!