Oracles

I6 THE LITTLE HALF-SOVEREIGN “ Is not a candle burning Somewhere amid the flame Scorching the smoke of London With its eternal shame ? “ Is there no gate so stubborn That shall not find a key, That with our Sovereign’s image Graven in majesty ? ” Why not the Devil’s portrait Graven in Walham Green ? Why with the bare suggestion Dare we insult our Queen ? Give me the golden trumpet Blown at the judgment-day, Closing the gate of mercy Over the Cast Away. Melt me its gold to money, Coin me that small, small ring Stamped with the Hoof of Satan, Bearing the name of King. Then, in the murky midnight, Silently lead me down, Down into Hell’s dark portals, Far in the West of Town.