Summer 1948 • Vol. X No. 3 PoetryJuly 1, 1948 |

Fountain and Unicorn

The streets that offer it a snag-toothed smile, An age that's paved with excrement, with wrongs That choke the breath, could make the precious vile If they could reach it, but how should they spoil What to no street and to no time belongs, Though it alight here for a bird-foot while? Yet most securely housed, certainly wrought In a given age are the proud things that tell Less of the sweat spent on them and the thought Or of the princely figure that they brought Than they tell gaily like an astonished bell The marvel that their imaging has caught. For in a fountain, in a tapestry, Saved from another time, paid for perhaps With miners' or with plowmen's agony, And placed now for the whispering world to see, To praise, to pass, look! there's a finger maps The very heaven we dreamed could never be. Beyond a portico presided over By an angel, young, demure, with slotted wings, The fountain, central, reigns. Thunders discover A dewy dazzle, a mercurial hover. Fir

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Epithalamion

By Stephen Spender

The streets that offer it a snag-toothed smile, An age that's paved with excrement, with wrongs That choke the breath, could make the precious vile If they could reach it, […]

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