Sonnets from a Lock Box - Part of 34
Whereas; the shining symbol of Exchange
Stretched on the altar of the Market Place
Glitters in splendor like the Golden Fleece;
Whereas; forsaken by the gods, with strange
Wild speech of foreign traders all around,
The fierce wild war of the excited street,
It shineth still with dewdrops fresh and sweet—
Its warm wool trampled in the bloody ground;
Whereas; the Priests of Trade with scheming eyes
Conduct strange rituals of blood and fire,
It seems strange, somehow, while with fierce desire
They scatter burning flesh for sacrifice,
No prophet cries. . . . ‘Here lies the Ancient Pain.
This is the Lamb that from the beginning was Slain.’
Stretched on the altar of the Market Place
Glitters in splendor like the Golden Fleece;
Whereas; forsaken by the gods, with strange
Wild speech of foreign traders all around,
The fierce wild war of the excited street,
It shineth still with dewdrops fresh and sweet—
Its warm wool trampled in the bloody ground;
Whereas; the Priests of Trade with scheming eyes
Conduct strange rituals of blood and fire,
It seems strange, somehow, while with fierce desire
They scatter burning flesh for sacrifice,
No prophet cries. . . . ‘Here lies the Ancient Pain.
This is the Lamb that from the beginning was Slain.’
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