“H AVE you been with the King to Rome,
Brother, big brother?”
“I've been there and I've come home.
Back to your play, little brother.”

“Oh, how high is Cæsar's house,
Brother, big brother?”
“Goats about the doorways browse:
Night hawks nest in the burnt roof-tree,
Home of the wild bird and home of the bee.
A thousand chambers of marble lie
Wide to the sun and the wind and the sky.
Poppies we find amongst our wheat
Grow on Cæsar's banquet seat.
Cattle crop and neatherds drowse
On the floors of Cæsar's house.”

“But what has become of Cæsar's gold,
Brother, big brother?”
“The times are bad and the world is old—
Who knows the where of the Cæsars' gold?
Night comes black on the Cæsars' hill;
The wells are deep and the tales are ill.
Fire-flies gleam in the damp and mould,—
All that is left of the Cæsars' gold.
Back to your play, little brother.”

“What has become of the Cæsars' men,
Brother, big brother?”
“Dogs in the kennel and wolf in the den
Howl for the fate of the Cæsars' men.
Slain in Asia, slain in Gaul,
By Dacian border and Persian wall;
Rhineland orchard and Danube fen
Fatten their roots on Cæsar's men.”

“Why is the world so sad and wide,
Brother, big brother?”
“Saxon boys by their fields that bide
Need not know if the world is wide.
Climb no mountain but Shire-end Hill,
Cross no water but goes to mill;
Ox in the stable and cow in the byre,
Smell of the wood smoke and sleep by the fire;
Sun-up in seed-time—a likely lad
Hurts not his head that the world is sad.
Back to your play, little brother.”