Four great gates has the city of Damascus
And four Great Wardens, on their spears reclining,
All day long stand like tall stone men
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For some reason, the first section of this poem (which I found in an Agatha Christie novel) used to scare the heck out of me when I was an older kid.
A gentle, sweeping vision of days gone by; written to the rhythm of the wind-swept sands. The sinister hints of danger, war, and, cultural attitudes, makes the poem relevant to today's devastation in the M.E.
I did translate this poem into Polish.