The piers are pummelled by the waves;
In a lonely field the rain
Lashes an abandoned train;
Outlaws fill the mountain caves

Fantastic grow the evening gowns;
Agents of the Fisc pursue
Absconding tax-defaulters through
The sewers of provincial towns

Private rites of magic send
The temple prostitutes to sleep;
All the literati keep
An imaginary friend

Cerebrotonic Cato may
Extol the Ancient Disciplines
But the muscle-bound Marines
Mutiny for food and pay

Caesar's double-bed is warm
As an unimportatnt clerk
Writes "I DO NOT LIKE MY WORK"
On a pink official form

Unendowed with wealth or pity
Little birds with scarlet legs
Sitting on their speckled eggs
Eye each flu-infected city

Altogether elsewhere, vast
Herds of reindeer move across
Miles and miles of golden moss
Silently and very fast

-W.H. Auden