George Sylvester Viereck

HUGE steel-ribbed monsters rise into the air

Her Babylonian towers, while on high

Like gilt-scaled serpents glide the swift trains by,

Or, underfoot, creep to their secret lair.

A thousand lights are jewels in her hair,

The sea her girdle, and her crown the sky,

Her life-blood throbs, the fevered pulses fly,

Immense, defiant, breathless she stands there

And ever listens in the ceaseless din,

Waiting for him, her lover who shall come,

Whose singing lips shall boldly claim their own

And render sonant what in her was dumb:

The splendour and the madness and the sin,

Her dreams in iron and her thoughts of stone.