Bloomsbury in Autumn

Up steep steps to the portico’s gloom,
Corinthian pillars of a Hawksmoor:
Inside, the solid compression of space,
Cast like bronze in Roman stoic order.

Green squares’ wet gloss; tree-flicker;
Black branches dripping in winter;
Pharaonic terraces parade their fronts,
A literary Valley of the Kings.

Behind its iron cage, the British Museum
Crouches like a colossal Assyrian bull,
As the world’s scenes writhe and evanesce
In the obsidian of Dr Dee’s scrying glass.