That civilisation may not sink,
Its great battle lost,
Quiet the dog, tether the
To a distant post;
Our master Caesar is in the
Where the maps are spread,
His eyes fixed upon nothing,
A hand under his head.
Like a long-legged fly upon the
His mind moves upon silence.
That the topless towers be
And men recall that face,
Move most gently if move you
In this lonely place.
She thinks, part woman, three parts a child,
That nobody looks; her
Practise a tinker
Picked up on a street.
Like a long-legged fly upon the
His mind moves upon silence.
That girls at puberty may
The first Adam in their thought,
Shut the door of the Pope's chapel,
Keep those children out.
There on that scaffolding
Michael Angelo.
With no more sound than the mice
His hand moves to and fro.
Like a long-legged fly upon the
His mind moves upon silence.
