Читать книгу The Great Captains - Henry Treece - Страница 14

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Like ghosts in companies the dancers run

Under the lowering sky among the stones,

Anonymous, the men with antlers swirling,

Their faces stiff with grinning back at death.

The men of leaves and straw form whorls about

The clay-daubed girls who fall and shriek,

Shuddering as the jerking figures strike,

Feeling the Corn King trembling on their thighs.

And last, the men with sticks, the lily-white,

Their green cloaks whirling in the night’s last breath.

Click-clack! Click-clack! Their faces grave,

Reliving glory and rehearsing death!