The Harbour of Boulogne (Eduard Manet)
A gloomy forest of tall dark masks.
A hazy moon lights up the bonnets
of the children, who huddle together
for warmth and safety.
The night seems to linger on and on;
stars glimmer in the sky
as water laps the quiet shore.
Will morning never come?
The Houses of Parliament
The misty castle is covered
by a moth bitten coat.
The sun shines through the holes
and burns the Thames, turning
the river into molten lava.
If the wind came all would sail away
and sink and fall
The Sacrifice of Iphegenia
It is so lonely and quiet
in the dense dark night;
the clocktower is striking the hours.
A woman lies sprawled still as still can be
on a damp, wooden pier.
The boards steal towards the river,
carry the butler
who watches the ghostly train rattle by.
Two stately women in ice-blue gowns
sit and stand, stand and sit.
Looming shadows jump out
round every door and corner
as one solitary woman in black enters.
Lying on the bank are the bathers
in the still of the blueness of the day;
impatiently waiting for the sun to
shine on them.
The bathers must be an audience watching
the day go by.
Like the river
they are bored.