(Brock)



Yet year on year the greedy tide

Swelled from the west unsatisfied

And ever with impatient fret

Gnawed at the human banquet

And many with madness in their eyes

Stared gibbering at the white hot skies

Where foul birds circled overhead

Shadowing the living and the dead

Southward to where the blood red sun

Sickens at noon in vapours dun

He stumbles with the fear-tamed herds

Of savage beasts

While homeless birds fly overhead