68 
THE WORLD’S TRAGEDY. 
 
Broke in my body to its lust.  
What ?  Are ye done ? 
 
There is a distant chorus 
Of robust voices ;  the earth heaves and pants  
As if the seven and seventy elephants  
Snow-white of Solomon made hither, marched  
On the black earth sun-parched  
Into the battle-front ;  grave and sonorous,  
A clang of arms salutes these ears, that twitch  
To catch the zenith pitch 
Of aught that, human or divine, 
Might pour some drowsy wine,  
Poppy-heads bruised and seethed  
In milk of asses ivy-wreathed  
With honey and spice and wine moon-pale  
Strained though a virgin’s veil — 
To ease this itch. 
 
Enter a Roman Centurion and his guard. 
 
THE CENTURION 
 
Ha !  Publius, saidst thou :  “ Jewish girls are chaste ” ? 
 
PUBLIUS 
 
Good — a barbarian Clodia Croup-in-air !