To these no sound of sapphire seas, no stunted firs of Lebanon,
Not Tyrian dyes nor Tripoli's loud yellows deafened. We ran on
Through landmarks famed in Holy Writ, Emmaus, Bethlehem ... at last
We saw the walls of Zion lit blood-red by sunset and the past.
The conquest of another world unfurled beneath our feet, the land
Of miracle and mystery lay as a bauble in our hand.
Men flung their caps up, feigned a swoon. With prostrate lines of us the moon
Drew silver circles round the site. A cock crowed—many hours too soon.
We thought to prise the gates ajar. My tutor wrote their private Lar
Or else—with Tacitus—their folk designed them for eternal war.