Chimera Caliban

An ignominious monster and uncouth
Who crouches in a Satanic attitude,
The naked parody of some vital truth
Concealed from that huge howling multitude
That whirls forever on the winds and storms
And in the silence of the desert brood.
This inchoate being the vast night deforms
And he is covetous of men's spilt blood;
A creature fashioned of the Nile's slime and mud
That has no thought but to be there alive,
Alive under no hawk's nor night owl's hood;
He has forgotten all but how to strive
In vain against the God's hostility;
A Caliban who has not the art to thrive
On the mere nothing his feet are fast upon
A monstrous stone once hewn in Babylon
Half featureless and utterly insane,
There where he crouches just held by his feet
From falling headlong on the noiseless street;
A thing without the atom of a brain
To fathom his abominable nudity.
Who made him? Some mad monster of a man
Whose mind conceived this nightmare, Caliban.