William Jay Smith, who once did enjoy some fame, I think, for a poem called 'American Primitive' --
London
Temptation, oh, temptation, sang the singers,
And the river passed them by like Banquo's ghost.
Deliver us from evil, and the river;
All are lost.
Salvation, oh, salvation, sang the singers,
And the ribs that rose and fell were barrel staves;
And I saw beyond the mist, the magic circle,
The hungry waves.
The river like a serpent moved among them,
And mingled, as it coiled upon each eye,
The faint, the dark, the scarcely flowing water,
And the quiet sky.
Death-in-Life is on us, cried the people.
Leaves from Birnam Wood are on the wind.
Holy, holy, holy, sang the singers,
All have sinned.
The stars have disappeared above the city
Like jewels from the crown of Banquo's ghost;
And London Bridge is falling, falling, falling,
Scaled, and crossed.
xxx- William Jay Smith
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