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J. Wolker (1900–1924)
Then Antonin, with hands
The fire has toughened, throws
A shovelful of coal.
And with the coal, since light
Can come from man alone,
He casts in part his sight,
His very eyes, and they
That shine as blue and bright
As flowers, along the wires
Glide on, above the town
And shine in cafés,
Theatres, and best
Of all on tables where
Families collect,
In glowing, radiant light.
“Comrades of the power-house,
The wife I have is strange.
For when I look upon
Her eyes, she weeps and says
Some spell must be on me,
Because my eyes are changed.
For when she married me,
She says, my eyes were fine,
And like two circles great:
But now two tiny bits
Remain upon my face
As on an empty plate.”
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