The March Past

The march interrupted the light afternoon.
Cars stopped dead, children began to run,
As out of the street-shadow into the sun

Discipline strode, music bullying aside 
The credulous, prettily-coloured crowd,
Evoking an over-confident, over-loud

Holiday where the flags lisped and beckoned,
And all was focused, larger than we reckoned,
Into a consequence of thirty seconds.

The stamp and dash of surface sound cut short 
Memory, intention, thought,
The vague heart sharpened to a candid court

Where exercised a sudden flock of visions
Honeycombs of heroic separations,
Pure marchings, pure apparitions,

Until the crowd closed in behind.
Then music drooped. And what came back to mind 
Was not its previous habit, but a blind

Astonishing remorse for things now ended 
That of themselves were also rich and splendid 
(But unsupported broke, and were not mended) -

Astonishing, for such things should be deep,
Rarely exhumable not in a sleep 
So light they can awake and occupy 
An absent mind when any march goes by