Slow and late, with bloodied Paw and stumbled hoof Slouching huntsmen drag themselves Through the opening gate 5 Retiring hands had bolted. Unshaken belief is proof That the abjured rounds of pursuit, and late Loss of a scattered trail traced to mud But confirm the circuit 10 Of hound and blood. Unliving bodies lie heaved to the brink; Heavy-bellied gulls stare about. Low and rough, a drunkard mouths a tune Down the old dirt road, 15 Half out of mind--- A tune the king's players once Repeated at the palace. "each moment dies and Nothing may its breath renew. 20 Yet minute piles on minute A solace none wise would dare refuse." Whispered low the drunken man Near where slept the hound. Failed fathers that have failed to deepen 25 The ancient track of an old race No bunched mountain's back Could have rightly steepened Rant at rigor mortis; Deep tears eat their faces. 30 Lead bells tell the hour of the house. Children blow their candles out. Ashes cover the coals. Unliving bodies lie heaved to the brink; Heavy-bellied gulls stare about. 35 "Out of all slaughter, the one Globe sundered by a gash Far past the antique wit Of Solomon to sew, That black day may come 40 And may yet come When no high death can save A rare daughter or extraordinary son From rash disaster When we've to destruction come." 45 Whispered low the drunken man Near where slept the hind.
From the collection "Burning Byzantium"
Written by Gregg Glory [Gregg G. Brown]
More information available on gregglory.com.