|A stanza from Gascoigne's Egg|
Gold-beater’s skin, it is called, membrane
from the intestine of a cow: of this the bags
are made, ten-storey high, that will lift
like long-winded folios, the airship
to immortality – intoning across the country
Willington Welwyn Hyde Park Deal
and out among salt fantasies, the mouths
of the Nile and Indus, to anchor upon masts
tall as those I climbed and fought from.
Rigging on the air that plays the golden
pavan of an empire: the transparent skins
of hydrogen swell with courtly pride.