Lune de Miel (Honeymoon)
(Tomas Eliot)
They have seen the Low Countries, they are going Terre Haute;
But one summer night finding them in Ravenna, at ease
Between two sheets in the home of two hundred bugs,
The sweat of summer, and the smell of a bitch in heat,
They lie on their backs and spread apart the knees
Of four sticky legs all swollen with bites.
They raise the sheet so that they can scratch better.
Less than a mile from here is Saint Apollinare in Classe,
The basilica known to enthusiasts
For its acanthus columns which the wind batters.
At eight o’clock they will catch the train
To prolong their miseries from Padua to Milan
Where they will find The Last Supper, and an inexpensive
Restaurant. He will calculate the tip with a pencil.
They will have seen Switzerland and crossed France.
And Saint Apollinare, straight and ascetic,
Old, disaffected mill of God, still keeps
