Martin
D . Armstrong .
Bore
pyramids of fruit
in
golden
bowls,
Or, heaped
on
shining
salvers ; others
poured
Rich
wines
and
syrops ; others
set
on
poles
Torches of frankincense
that
shed
abroad
A
curling
fragrance
down
the
corridors.
Flowers
wreathed
the beams and porches , showering
From
marble
balconies, until
the
floors
Were
drifted
deep
with
petals .
And
the King
Sat
in
the midst and let the jewels
stream
Between his
fingers , till,
in
that
domain
Utopian ,
Truth
and
Fear
became a
dream ,
And
he
took
comfort
to
his heart
again .
EXODUS .
W
E
served
him
with
the
sweat
of
many years
,
W
Squandered
our
youth
in
labour
in
his
fields
,
Our backs were
bowed
beneath
the heavy yields
That
swelled
his
coffers
,
and our wage was
tears
.
Then
was
it
that
I
learnt
to
hate
the
sun
,
And
that the golden
fountains
of
the East
Became
a
sign
of
servitude increased
.
Each
morn
I
felt
their
flaming
glory
run
12