Tony Grist (poliphilo) wrote,
Tony Grist
poliphilo

The Celtic Twilight

 A very old poem, written by me when I was someone else, but having some connection to the previous post.


                                    THE CELTIC TWILIGHT      

 

                                    Tribes that have

                                    No use for the book

                                    Go down before

                                    The literate nations.

 

                                    One codex

                                    Outmanoeuvres

                                    Skill in metalwork

                                    Or battle;

 

                                    For what, say,

                                    Is Babylon

                                    Beside the preaching

                                    Of first Isaiah?

 

                                    While nearer home

                                    Those rough stone heads

                                    Set up by springs

                                    Are less persuasive

 

                                    Than Virgil's Eclogues.

                                    Yet our past,

                                    Orderly

                                    As a colonnade,

           

                                    Admits the fooling

                                    Of Sheila na Gig,

                                    Flaunting her twat

                                    On a Roman arch,

 

                                    While hidden under

                                    Some canon's seat

                                    The green man

                                    With a mouth full of vines

 

                                    Hints at the realm

                                    Of the triple Goddess

                                    Where antlers toss

                                    In drowned light

 

                                    And vast faces,

                                    Weeping their anguish,

                                    Peer from the scribbled

                                    Limestone scarp.

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