The prisoner comes forward
To the balustrade, bound
At the wrists with rope
That trails, black filament,
To the hand of a dark
Keeper. Other forms stand
In the half light beyond.
The prisoner's head melts
In the haze, crowned
With laurel or with brier.
At his side a muscular
And naked servitor, demi-
Tyrant in a tyrant world,
Looms sinuously over the
Baying crowd of peasants
Gathered at the foot of the
Wall. Faces pale with anger
And vengeance and fear,
The white bodies of small
Children, clamour of many
Anonymous voices. All eyes
Trained on the condemned.
The servitor raises an arm
And shrugs up his ribs to
Bellow: Behold the man!
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