Caroling Dusk/At the Carnival
For other versions of this work, see At the Carnival.
AT THE CARNIVAL
Gay little Girl-of-the-Diving-Tank,I desire a name for you,Nice, as a right glove fits;For you—who amid the malodorousMechanics of this unlovely thing,Are darling of spirit and form.I know you—a glance, and what you areSits-by-the-fire in my heart.My Limousine-Lady knows you, orWhy does the slant-envy of her eye markYour straight air and radiant inclusive smile?Guilt pins a fig-leaf; Innocence is its own adorning.The bull-necked man knows you—this first timeHis itching flesh sees form divine and vibrant health,And thinks not of his avocation.I came incuriously—Set on no diversion save that my mindMight safely nurse its brood of misdeedsIn the presence of a blind crowd.The color of life was gray.Everywhere the setting seemed rightFor my mood!Here the sausage and garlic booth
Sent unholy incense skyward;There a quivering female-thingGestured assignations, and liedTo call it dancing;There, too, were games of chanceWith chances for none;But oh! the Girl-of-the-Tank, at last!Gleaming Girl, how intimately pure and freeThe gaze you send the crowd,As though you know the dearth of beautyIn its sordid life.We need you—my Limousine-Lady,The bull-necked man, and I.Seeing you here brave and water-clean,Leaven for the heavy ones of earth,I am swift to feel that what makesThe plodder glad is good; andWhatever is good is God.The wonder is that you are here;I have seen the queer in queer places,But never before a heaven-fedNaiad of the Carnival-Tank!Little Diver, Destiny for you,Like as for me, is shod in silence;Years may seep into your soulThe bacilli of the usual and the expedient;I implore Neptune to claim his child to-day!