THE SECOND POEM ABOUT A GIANT NAKED STATUE OF NAPOLEON (REV)

 

The sea coal fires make London fogs
Thicker, more palpable, than all others
Condensing sometimes into dogs or hippogriffs
Or megalosaur1, silently patrolling the streets
Until, for a while, the fog consents to lift.
Tonight, the fog has made a constable
With a tipstaff and an unlit lantern
(Fog , with no love for fire, casually extinguishes
Unwary streetlamps that sputter too proudly)
Fog scorns detail but works to a large scale
So the constable is 8 feet tall. Still, he is puny
Compared to the giant nude statue of Napoleon
Who stands in Portland Terrace, looking up
"Mon ami," says the statue, "I break no laws 

 Save those of probability and you, I think,
Are not innocent of that either. Just now,
On the world’s other side, the Emperor has died
Of poison, of boredom, of grief.  In Corsica

When great men die the brothers of death bring tapers
And muffled drums, sweeping through the streets
Clearing the way for his passage. It would be ungracious
For the Emperor's soul not to bid Ajaccio farewell

And I believe I will see it flying across the moon's face.
You, my friend, will give benighted men nightmares
And then vanish back into the fog that made you.
Dawn will find me, as usual, at Apsley House
Where Wellington will scowl to witness again

How calm and regal Canova made me.
Neither of us is here; stand watch with me;
Who knows but that the Emperor will notice us
Saluting him amidst his favorite enemies?"