The Thunder-Clouds of Caesar

The thunder-clouds of Caesar are advancing,

Scorched heads of grain fall under Roman foot;

The cindered huts of Gauls, long since abandoned,

Stare, dark-eyed, at these passing Roman swords.

        Some Gaul had held his torch,

        Spread silently the fire on his home

        In death of dreams to take

        What power might be taken from his foe

But march on, mighty Caesar, conquer on!

Spread fear from Roman hill to Briton's end,

For man shall wear the laurel, crowned forever!

And earth shall serve a pantheon of men.

        The woman holds her child,

        Stares silent at his frozen, fading face

        To catch what bit of life

        May still be caught before he fades away

But stand, oh mighty Caesar! Give no way!

The least of these are not a god's concern;

Vercingetorix's mighty men lay slain

And Rome awaits triumphant man's return!