“The Fall of Rome,” by W. H. Auden

The piers are pummelled by the waves;
   In a lonely field the rain
   Lashes an abandoned train;
   Outlaws fill the mountain caves.

   Fantastic grow the evening gowns;
   Agents of the Fisc pursue
   Absconding tax defaulters through
   The sewers of provincial towns.

   Private rites of magic send
   The temple prostitutes to sleep;
   All the literati keep
   An imaginary friend.

   Cerebretonic Cato may
   Extol the Ancient Disciplines,
   But the muscle-bound Marines
   Mutiny for food and pay.

   Caesar’s double-bed is warm
   As an unimportant clerk
   Writes I DO NOT LIKE MY WORK
   On a pink official form.

   Unendowed with wealth or pity,
   Little birds with scarlet legs,
   Sitting on their speckled eggs,
   Eye each flu-infected city.

   Altogether elsewhere, vast
   Herds of reindeer move across
   Miles and miles of golden moss,
   Silently and very fast.