A Review in Hyde Park
1913.
The Crowd
Watches.
WHERE the trees rise like cliffs,
proud and
blue-tinted in the distance,
Between the cliffs of the
trees, on the grey —
green park
Rests a still line of soldiers, red motionless
range of
guards
Smouldering with darkened busbies beneath the bay —
onets’ slant rain.
Colossal in nearness a blue police
sits still on his horse
Guarding the path; his hand relaxed at his
thigh,
And skyward
his face is immobile, eyelids aslant
In tedium, and mouth relaxed as if smiling —
ineffable
tedium!
So! So! Gaily a general canters
across the space,
With white plumes blinking under the evening grey
sky.
And suddenly, as if the ground
moved
The red range
heaves in slow, magnetic reply.