The Whitewashed Gate

I've got a wealth of apples and a kite of string A dead rat swinging on a pauper's wing A brass door-knob and a bottle-glass blue A summer's labor for a boy to do The fence is finished but the world is gone St. Petersburg is just a phantom lawn A whited sepulchre of deceptive glow The first correct entry in the row Professional utility has had its day And chased the rapture of the stream away Inventory the ache of the iron nail Mark the manifest for the coming sale A wanton smash-up of the childhood mind To leave the poetry of the mud behind The logic is soundless, the profit is thin Exterminate the awe to let the trading in The gate is white... The soul is liquid... (The clearance is complete)