Long-legged Fly

That civilisation may not sink, / Its great battle lost, / Quiet the dog, tether the pony / To a distant post; / Our master Caesar is in the tent / Where the maps are spread, / His eyes fixed upon nothing, / A hand under his head. // Like a long-legged fly upon the stream / His mind moves upon silence. // That the topless towers be burnt / And men recall that face, / Move most gently if move you must / In this lonely place. / She thinks, part woman, three parts a child, / That nobody looks; her feet / Practise a tinker shuffle / Picked up on a street. // Like a long-legged fly upon the stream / Her mind moves upon silence. // That girls at puberty may find / The first Adam in their thought, / Shut the door of the Pope’s chapel, / Keep those children out. / There on that scaffolding reclines / Michael Angelo. / With no more sound than the mice make / His hand moves to and fro. // Like a long-legged fly upon the stream / His mind moves upon silence.