Esav Benyamin said:
sometimes i feel i am a roman centurion shouting in the wilderness and trying to close the gates of the city before the barbarians get in. sometimes i feel they are already here.
The Cuirassiers of the Frontier
Goths, Vandals, Huns, Isaurian mountaineers,
Made Roman by our Roman sacrament,
We can know little (as we care little)
Of the Metropolis: her candled churches,
Her white-gowned pederastic senators,
The cut-throat factions of her Hippodrome,
The eunuchs of her draped saloons.
Here is the frontier, here our camp and place --
Beans for the pot, fodder for the horses,
And Roman arms. Enough. Who among us
At full gallop, the bowstring to his ear,
Lets drive his heavy arrows, to sink
Stinging through Persian corslets damascened,
Then follows with the lance -- he has our love.
The Christ bade Holy Peter sheathe his sword,
Being outnumbered by the Temple guard,
And this was prudence, the cause not yet lost
While Peter might persuade the crowd to rescue.
Peter reneged, breaking his sacrament.
With us the penalty is death by stoning,
Not to be made a bishop.
In Peter's Church there is no faith noor truth,
Nor justice anywhere in palace or court.
That we continue watchful on the rampart
Concerns no priest. A gaping silken dragon,
Puffed by the wind, suffices us for God.
We, not the City, are the Empire's soul:
A rotten tree lives only in its rind.
-- Robert Graves
That is a good one, and one that I have never read before...
Here is one of my favorites
Sonnet #94
by William Shakespeare
They that have power to hurt, and will do none,
That do not do the thing, they most do show,
Who moving others, are themselves as stone,
Unmoved, cold, and to temptation slow:
They rightly do inherit heaven's graces,
And husband nature's riches from expense,
Tibey are the lords and owners of their faces,
Others, but stewards of their excellence:
The summer's flower is to the summer sweet,
Though to it self, it only live and die,
But if that flower with base infection meet,
The basest weed outbraves his dignity:
For sweetest things turn sourest by their deeds,
Lilies that fester, smell far worse than weeds.
That last line always gets to me...
It is something that all those with power should take note of...
OK, I have been trying to post this for over an hour and it locks up every time I hit submit!
I am now trying this using Firefox...