February

The bloody-handed Empire falls afresh
At Antioch, and lifts Ignatius thence,
A soul unconquerable, clad in flesh
To swell the arena's foul magnificence.

Ignatius does not measure the immense
Proportions of the circus, nor behold
The gesturing rabble to the topstone dense,
The gleam of scarlet and the glint of gold;

So brave the Image heart and thought enfold,
So wide the Court of Heaven already near:
Till, like an awning, earth together rolled,
The Sun of everlasting day shine clear.

The drowsy lions sniff the trampled mud,
Churned up of Roman dust and martyrs' blood.
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