W.B. Yeats
Long-Legged Fly
That civilisation may not sink,
Its great battle lost,
Quiet the dog, tehter 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 upon his head.
Like a long-legged fly upon the stream
His mind moves upon silence.That the topless towers be burnt
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