O what is that light I see flashing so clear Over the distance brightly, brightly? Only the sun on their weapons, dear, As they step lightly. O what are they doing with all that gear What are they doing this morning, this morning? Only the usual manoeuvres, dear, Or perhaps a warning. O why have they left the road down there Why are they suddenly wheeling, wheeling? Perhaps a change in the orders, dear, Why are you kneeling? O haven't they stopped for the doctor's care Haven't they reined their horses, their horses? Why, they are none of them wounded, dear, None of these forces. O is it the parson they want with white hair; Is it the parson, is it, is it? No, they are passing his gateway, dear, Without a visit. O it must be the farmer who lives so near It must be the farmer so cunning, so cunning? They have passed the farm already, dear, And now they are running. O where are you going? stay with me here! Were the vows you swore me deceiving, deceiving? No, I promised to love you, dear, But I must be leaving. O it's broken the lock and splintered the door, O it's the gate where they're turning, turning Their feet are heavy on the floor And their eyes are burning.

The Fall of Rome W. H. Auden

(for Cyril Connolly)

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