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 are spread

His eyes fixed upon nothing

A hand under his head

Like a long-legged fly upon the stream

His mind moves upon silence

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

Like a long-legged fly upon the stream

Her mind moves upon silence

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