"Lines suggested by the opening made in Silbury Hill, 1849 and 2007"
Bones of our wild forefathers, O forgive,
If we now pierce the chambers of your rest,
And open your dark pillows to the eye
Of the irreverent day! Hark, as we move,
Runs no stern whisper down the narrow vault?
Flickers no shape across our torchlight pale,
With backward beckoning arm? No, all is still...
But stay. Who now comes here, cloaked by words
And dignity of air? No treasure still is here
Nor learning to be taught, save that history's lesson
Is never to be learned.
|