(for Cyril Connolly) <br /> <br />The piers are pummelled by the waves; <br />In a lonely field the rain <br />Lashes an abandoned train; <br />Outlaws fill the mountain caves. <br /> <br />Fantastic grow the evening gowns; <br />Agents of the Fisc pursue <br />Absconding tax-defaulters through <br />The sewers of provincial towns. <br /> <br />Private rites of magic send <br />The temple prostitutes to sleep; <br />All the literati keep <br />An imaginary friend. <br /> <br />Cerebrotonic Cato may <br />Extol the Ancient Disciplines, <br />But the muscle-bound Marines <br />Mutiny for food and pay. <br /> <br />Caesar's double-bed is warm <br />As an unimportant clerk <br />Writes I DO NOT LIKE MY WORK <br />On a pink official form. <br /> <br />Unendowed with wealth or pity, <br />Little birds with scarlet legs, <br />Sitting on their speckled eggs, <br />Eye each flu-infected city. <br /> <br />Altogether elsewhere, vast <br />Herds of reindeer move across <br />Miles and miles of golden moss, <br />Silently and very fast.<br /><br />Wystan Hugh Auden<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-fall-of-rome-2/
