The poem
The piers are pummelled by the waves; In a lonely field the rain Lashes and abandoned train; Outlaws fill the mountain caves.
Fantastic grow the evening gowns; Agenst of the Fisc pursue Absconding tax-defaulters through The sewers of provincial towns.
Private rites of magic send The temple prostitutes to sleep; All the literati keep An imaginary friend.
Cerebrotonic Cato may Extol the Ancient Disciplines, But the muscle-bound Marines Mutiny for food and pay.
Caesar's double-bed is warm As an unimportatnt clerk Writes I DO NOT LIKE MY WORK On a pink official form.
Unendowed with wealth or pity Little birds with scalet legs, Sitting on their speckled eggs, Eye each flu-infected city.
Altogether elsewhere, vast Herds of reindeer move across Miles and miles of golden moss, Silently and very fast.
why take the poem off the internet if people are trying to study and learn about W.H. Auden!