Beauty for Ashes
You may burn the golden glory of the gorse,
But the roots into the rocky earth run deep,
And the living bush will only glow to rarer fire of beauty
When at last beneath the mould you lie asleep.
Beauty dies not though you blast and lay it waste,
Though you turn the whole earth to a cinder-heap,
From the ashes of your factories once again the ever-living
Shall awake one April morning out of sleep.
But the roots into the rocky earth run deep,
And the living bush will only glow to rarer fire of beauty
When at last beneath the mould you lie asleep.
Beauty dies not though you blast and lay it waste,
Though you turn the whole earth to a cinder-heap,
From the ashes of your factories once again the ever-living
Shall awake one April morning out of sleep.
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