  TANG the sharp mandoline! Hail, falling in the lean Street of Hell, sweeps it clean. Under the puppet booth, Down in Hell, see the smooth Snow bright as fruit and sooth. Cherries and plums all freeze— Rubies upon the trees, Rubied hail falls through these, Pelting each young Snow Queen— (A swan’s breath, so whitely seen,) Flirting her fan in lean Streets, passing to and fro, White as the flamelike snow, Fruit of lips all aglow As isles of the cherry Or ruby-sweet berry All plump sweet and merry. Mantillas hide the shame Of each duenna dame, (Fans made of plumes of flame,) Pelted with coral bells Out of the orchard hells, (Hail with sweet fruitage smells). Now on the platform seen, Hoofs clatter with the clean Sound of a mandoline.... Under the tinsel sun, See shadow-spiders run!— Fatter than any bun, Beelzebub in a chair Sits on the platform there; Candles like cold eyes stare. “Master has got the gout,” Adder-flames flare and spout Tiptoe the Barber crept, On his furred black locks leapt. Candles shrieked, flaring wept. Barber takes up the shears.... “Fur for the shivering fears, Cold in Hell these long years.” Candles shriek up the scale, Creaking down in a wail. Hear how their protests fail! Only cold, snakish flutes Sound like the growing fruits Out of slow hidden roots.... Strange eyes a moment stare, Fruit-like and moon-like glare, From the bright shutters where Hail, falling in the lean Street of Hell, sweeps it clean. Tang the sharp mandoline! |
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