Chapter I: DREAD the parrots of the summer sun,

The harsh and blazing screams of July noon,
A riot of jays and peacocks and macaws.
There is some presage of big ardours due
Even in the pale flamingoes of the dawn;
While golden pheasants and hoopoes of the West
Burn fierce and proudly still, when he has set.

Better the winter wagtails of pied skies,
Cold ospreys of the north, cormorants of squall,
Brown wrens of rain, white silent owls of snow,
And bitterns of great clouds that in October
Sweep from the west at evening. Lovelier still
The night’s black swans, the daws of starless night
(Daw-like to hide what’s shiny), plovers and gulls
Of winds that cry on autumn afternoons....

These every one I love: but above these
Rarest of all my birds, I dearly love
The blue and silver herons of the moon.

CHRISTOPHER MARLYE

CHRISTOPHER MARLYE damned his God
In many a blasphemous mighty line,
--Being given to words and wenches and wine.

He wrote his Faustus, and laughed to see
How everyone feared his devils but he.

Christopher Marlye passed the gate,
Eager to stalk on the floor of Heaven,
Outface his God, and affront the Seven:

But Peter genially let him in,
Making no mention of all his sin.

And he got no credit for all he had done,
Though he grabbed a hold on the coat of God,
And bellowed his infamies one by one,
Blasphemy, lechery, thought, and deed ...

But nobody paid him the slightest heed.

And the devils and torments he thought to brave
He left behind, on this side of the grave.

Heigh-ho! for Christopher Marlye.

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