The Burial of Lord Byron – Part I

with the tap of knife to glass his Grace rose
clutching the letter, spoke in disbelief to the silenced
ceremonial dinner of the Belvoir hunt.‘Grave
news gentlemen. Lord Byron has died
in Greece.’an audible gasp descended into deeper
silence, held until a disembodied voice
behind the flicker of candelabra spoke,‘I stood
in Venice on the Bridge of Sighs.’ darkness
concealed who responded,‘a palace
and a prison on each hand.’ fox, hunter
and hound forgotten, squires repeated singly
and in groups lines in eulogy for the dead poet.
Leaving the ancestral hall some glanced skywards, seeking
a new, bright tailed comet to reflect their newly
mapped constellation of the literary dead.