Sweeney Among the Nightingales 
by Thomas Stearns Eliot 

 

                         Apeneck Sweeney spreads his knees
                         Letting his arms hang down to laugh,
                         The zebra stripes along his jaw
                         Swelling to maculate giraffe.

                         The circles of the stormy moon
                         Slide westward toward the River Plate,
                         Death and the Raven drift above
                         And Sweeney guards the horned gate.

                         Gloomy Orion and the Dog
                         Are veiled; and hushed the shrunken seas;
                         The person in the Spanish cape
                         Tries to sit on Sweeney's knees

                         Slips and pulls the table cloth
                         Overturns a coffee-cup,
                         Reorganized upon the floor
                         She yawns and draws a stocking up;

                         The silent man in mocha brown
                         Sprawls at the window-sill and gapes;
                         The waiter brings in oranges
                         Bananas figs and hothouse grapes;

                         The silent vertebrate in brown
                         Contracts and concentrates, withdraws;
                         Rachel née Rabinovitch
                         Tears at the grapes with murderous paws;

                         She and the lady in the cape
                         Are suspect, thought to be in league;
                         Therefore the man with heavy eyes
                         Declines the gambit, shows fatigue,

                         Leaves the room and reappears
                         Outside the window, leaning in,
                         Branches of wisteria
                         Circumscribe a golden grin;

                         The host with someone indistinct
                         Converses at the door apart,
                         The nightingales are singing near
                         The Convent of the Sacred Heart,

                         And sang within the bloody wood
                         When Agamemnon cried aloud,
                         And let their liquid droppings fall
                         To stain the stiff dishonoured shroud.