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1886–1950

II

John Gould Fletcher

The sky's vast emptiness Is crowded with fragments colliding, Ragged, splintered masses Swirling away to the night.

The volcano of the sun Has burst and split its crater: Black slag is hurled to the zenith Above the red lava-sea.

Black shrivelled, charred fragments Fall into the scarlet torrent: Huge tresses of darkness sweep over my face, Leaving me choking.

The sea is one crimson steaming fire; Each fanged wavelet Flickers and dances about the one behind it, Hungrily licking at the ship.

Fierce whirling swords, Tossed spear-heads lancelike Spit and stab, then suddenly fall Leaving me there

On a rolling summit of flame, facing a gulf of despair. The ship Lurches With ice-crusted prow into the wave-trough;

And rises, rapidly dripping liquid lire, Long twisted necklaces, that burn out to green frozen chrysolite.

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II · John Gould Fletcher · Poetry Cove