Josef Svatopluk Machar,
The Soul Of A Century — Near Jerusalem
(1943)
“ While the winds that drive the restless roaming clouds, Ruffle the silvery waves of ripened olives Upon the mountain tops of distant Cedron. Toward the city’s gates are noisily returning The multitudes who saw the gruesome hanging, Satisfied now, the lifeless forms ceased swaying. A lonely soldier stands beneath each cross, The first, a Roman, of his Rome is thinking, Of Roman women, theatres and baths, Longingly thinking of the crowded Forum, The while he casts his brutal coarse damnation Upon the stench-filled city, dormant at his feet, And on the race of filthy Jews therein. ”
