Death was no empty hat, but a swung trapeze
swept through a hall of song.
Hung on a silver wire, the winging bar
leaped in a singing breeze.
Riding with woe, the sweet violins of home
grieved in the high wall-lilac
and the cadences of a shadowless piper called
piteously from old pavements.
I heard, with the sighs of centuries, pagan notes
whispering in the cupola,
and saw in the flare of thunderhooks, scarecrow skies
with wondering savage moons,
and a horn with flag-ribbons blown by a coloured bird
flying before my eyes.
Eric Ratcliffe
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/death-was-no-empty-hat/
