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Poetry Pleases: St Mark

Caroline Glyn's Poem is filled with omens.

Blood and fire on the night horizon,
A smell of death in the streets by day;
Silence in the city of hills and temples
And a young voice shouting far away.

Omens in the returning of the black birds,
Omens on the hearth and in the entrails,
Omens at altars, omens on Caesar's threshold
And in the flying dust of a young man's sandals.

Running alone through the darkening empire,
Shouting into the watching silence,
Scattering the sand of the firelit streets
In the burning spray of divine impatience.

While beside him, swept in another glory,
Bounds the lion, pushing back the sky
Of threat with those towering wings and a seraph's ardour
And the fierce gladness of a young man's eye.

In the same ecstasy of passion and warning
And the same adoration, there they run -
The creature of apocalypse and the young man
Breathless, hoarse, under a bloody sun.

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