 | The Poems of A. C. Benson |  |
1
PRELUDE
Hushed is each busy shout:
The reverent people wait,
To see the sacred pomp stream out
Beside the temple-gate.
The reverent people wait,
To see the sacred pomp stream out
Beside the temple-gate.
The bull with garlands hung,
Stern priests in vesture grim:
With rolling voices swiftly sung
Peals out the jocund hymn.
Stern priests in vesture grim:
With rolling voices swiftly sung
Peals out the jocund hymn.
In front, behind, beside,
Beneath the chiming towers,
Pass boys that fling the censer wide,
And striplings scattering flowers.
Beneath the chiming towers,
Pass boys that fling the censer wide,
And striplings scattering flowers.
Victim or minister
I dare not claim to be,
But in the concourse and the stir,
There shall be room for me.
I dare not claim to be,
But in the concourse and the stir,
There shall be room for me.
The victim feels the stroke:
The priests are bowed in prayer:—
I feed the porch with fragrant smoke,
Strew roses on the stair.
The priests are bowed in prayer:—
I feed the porch with fragrant smoke,
Strew roses on the stair.
| The Poems of A. C. Benson | |