18 DECEMBER 1971, Page 12

Middle aged tourist

It is another city, but she knows By heart already the insidious dusk Through which she must return from monuments And galleries, and each heroic pose, To the small space where, behind locked doors, She carefully reviews the opulence That she has culled—the statues and the brusque Dismissive gestures of the conquerors.

In darkened privacy their gaudy wars Confirm to her the insignificance Which daylight let her doubt: and when she sleeps The least of them deride her. Brassy whores And servants mock her wonder—so that she weeps, Incapably, before their insolence.

Dick Davis