 | Sonnets of the Wingless Hours |  |
43
ON THE HORSES OF ST. MARK.
There be four brazen stallions of the breed
That Niké drove at Marathon a breast,
Who march before St. Mark's with pace repress'd,
As if her self were curbing-in their speed;
That Niké drove at Marathon a breast,
Who march before St. Mark's with pace repress'd,
As if her self were curbing-in their speed;
Marching as they have marched through crowd and creed
Down all Antiquity with clip-maned crest,
And through the Middle Times with broad bronze chest,
To trample down the Present like a reed.
Down all Antiquity with clip-maned crest,
And through the Middle Times with broad bronze chest,
To trample down the Present like a reed.
They march towards the Future of the world,
In Time not Space; and what the path is through
Is writ in shadowy scrolls not yet unfurl'd;
In Time not Space; and what the path is through
Is writ in shadowy scrolls not yet unfurl'd;
And as they march, the pigeons waltz and coo
Upon their sunlit backs, when eve has curl'd
The still canals, as eve is wont to do.
Upon their sunlit backs, when eve has curl'd
The still canals, as eve is wont to do.
| Sonnets of the Wingless Hours | |