Classic Poem

Too sore upon a human frame: too great
This heavy priesthood, royalty, immense
Fatigue, the office of the exalted Bonze:
Lonely, endeavourless, terrific state,
From inattentive eyes too closely screened,
In sombre courts of adamant and bronze,
Time polished and from age to age patined,
And quaking service all his recompense.

His sparrow, in the broad air, where he plays,
Delighted, in much light, with many a shrill
Contention, summoned, drops, a parachute:
By gardens and by devious covered ways
Sweeps silent, to the sacred hall addressed,
A satin flesh mailed mamelukes salute,
Wheels steadily to the Presence, preens his breast,
Waits gaily, back and forth, the sovereign will.