The Glutton

I

The sin Gluttony, rocking upon a swine,
ale mingling with sweat mingling with spit
on his chin, on his belly, or loitering by the wall,
roaring and swilling, died much like a Christian,
amongst much weeping. He babbled of green fields,
or lawns, or a garden, he mumbled so, some landscape
green in the memory. Once he sat up to bawl
They locked me out! but fell back white, and the waters
crooned, and he slept. The sentries too are sleeping;
are dead; like him are spectres like their king.
The gate that clanked on our nonage swings in the wind.
I have heard talk of provender, maps, and arms,
but the sympton gluttony, devious, quick on the sly
to swallow both napkin and napkin ring, is here,
is with us and wants us with him, winking a pig-eyed
bravo out of the looking-glass over the sideboard,
smiling across the silver and plates for best,
and the lace cloth, and the bowl of yellow roses
between the yellow blossoming of the tapers.