Bed and impact and overlay.
And hunters' camps of ages long before.
Abandoned margins of the Glacial Sea.
The chapel of our Dame of Grief.
But hard by Ophel's winding base.
To serve the kitchens of the town.
Or small and silent field, quite bare.
This field will crimson, and for shame."
Midway inearthed, caved in and torn.
The field of blood, the bad Aceldama.
Christ and the dear disciple — John.
Unto that crown how different!
Start up and prattle — sigh, and close.