Behold these jewelled, merchant Ancestors, <br />Foregathered in some chancellery of death; <br />Calm, provident, discreet, they stroke their beards <br />And move their faces slowly in the gloom, <br />And barter monstrous wealth with speech subdued, <br />Lustreless eyes and acquiescent lids. <br />And oft in pauses of their conference, <br />They listen to the measured breath of night’s <br />Hushed sweep of wind aloft the swaying trees <br />In dimly gesturing gardens; then a voice <br />Climbs with clear mortal song half-sad for heaven. <br /> <br />A silent-footed message flits and brings <br />The ghostly Sultan from his glimmering halls; <br />A shadow at the window, turbaned, vast, <br />He leans; and, pondering the sweet influence <br />That steals around him in remembered flowers, <br />Hears the frail music wind along the slopes, <br />Put forth, and fade across the whispering sea.<br /><br />Siegfried Sassoon<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/ancestors/
