Let me put out my welcome like a flag Of olive leaves to wrap you in my truce: Geneva: metropolis: one of the neutral cities Here to relax you. I do not rot, or run With sores like children; fertile, eastern suns Breed maggots like brats; but spotless, sunburnt backs Is all my shining citizens may (publicly) show. The rest you may read in my eyes, my glazed shop-windows. What do you see there? A stuffed eagle and a clapping-clockwork bear.
Let me console you. I wasn’t made between A sundown and sunrise in labour, by hands in bitterness, Or hands weeping over rubble; not one Built in a brickless desert of brick, nor stone From the sacked quarries of Greece; but a white palace Sits on my green acres: from shattered lands Troubled statesmen wear away its steps For you; I’ll bring you peace: I understand, Keep, as a souvenir, A stuffed eagle and a clapping-clockwork bear.
Smile, love, mix in my cafés, think of Jerusalem; bless, in St Peter’s, my vigil and valour. My fountain leaps a sixth of a mile in hope, And Peace a turbine humming in the deep. My museums –
The voice cracks, the streets darken, The sword falls dripping through the yellowing air. There are no clouds, but over the dwarfed city, Dwarfing the toy Alps, fight
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