Geneva

Geneva

Geneva

Let me put out my welcome like a flag
Of olive leaves to wrap you in my truce:
Geneva: metropolis: one of the neutral cities
Here to relax you. I do not rot, or run
With sores like children; fertile, eastern suns
Breed maggots like brats; but spotless, sunburnt backs
Is all my shining citizens may (publicly) show.
The rest you may read in my eyes, my glazed shop-windows.
                                                       What do you see there?
A stuffed eagle and a clapping-clockwork bear.

Let me console you. I wasn’t made between
A sundown and sunrise in labour, by hands in bitterness,
Or hands weeping over rubble; not one
Built in a brickless desert of brick, nor stone
From the sacked quarries of Greece; but a white palace
Sits on my green acres: from shattered lands
Troubled statesmen wear away its steps
For you; I’ll bring you peace: I understand,
                                                         Keep, as a souvenir,
A stuffed eagle and a clapping-clockwork bear.

Smile, love, mix in my cafés, think of
Jerusalem; bless, in St Peter’s, my vigil and valour.
My fountain leaps a sixth of a mile in hope,
And Peace a turbine humming in the deep.
My museums –

                      The voice cracks, the streets darken,
The sword falls dripping through the yellowing air.
There are no clouds, but over the dwarfed city,
Dwarfing the toy Alps, fight

A stuffed eagle and a clawing, clockwork bear.