The very Greeks, whose prayers had lured us into this adventure, lodged
Their saviours in a baited trap. Lord, how these foxes turned and dodged.
There lay our army like a log; our camp, our tenets, turned to bog.
We sank. Disorder brought disease that stalked us spectral through the fog.
The Greeks we came to bolster up against their weakness filled our cup
With turpitude; the Byzantine put Circe's poison in our wine.
Our aspirations all became mean as our hosts; the inner flame
Went out. From many a starting-point we found a common ground in shame;
For here no soul can keep its health, but cat-like honour creeps by stealth
Down side streets where the children breathe an atmosphere of rotting wealth.