After reading the Diaries of Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
Riderless horses galloping onwards,
Above the flashing cities come to grief;
And where the nobles counted in their hoards,
A solitary aged bandit-chief
Waters his dogs. The river towers stand
Abandoned in the new-made desert. All
The vaulted banking places fill with sand;
And from the conqueror’s tombs the jackals call.
Alone in the late Edwardian afternoon,
You watched the wolves at work among the roses;
And, as the darkness lowered, heard the tune
Whistled by legions leaving the cathedral closes.
Laughter at sunset, when you would forestall
Night and the Saxon ships’ silent landfall.