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 ate spread,
 His eyes fixed upon nothing,
 A hand under his head.
 <1Like a long-legged fly upon the stream
 His mind moves upon silence.>1
 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.
 <1Like a long-legged fly upon the stream
 Her mind moves upon silence.>1
 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-leggedfly upon the stream
 His mind moves upon silence.