Classic Poem

Lord, give man eyes to see! 'Twas some
Blind fool, for sure, that said
How lightless London had become
A city of the dead!

A city of the dead! I would
The dead again might rise
To look upon a sight so good
For tired hearts and eyes.

Here, amid miles of street and square,
A curfew without sound
Has rung its knell; and everywhere
Men walk on holy ground.

Along the now ungarish street,
Which once shut out the night,
The lamps stand veiled; about their feet
Lie little pools of light;

And over paving-stone and park,
From life-long vigil loosed,
Trees that had never known the dark
Take darkness home to roost.

And light-shy birds have come to town:
Loud through the night the cry
Of owls is heard, and up and down
The 'bus-routes bat-wings ply.

While overhead, on beams of light,
Like angels to and fro,
Pale messengers in level flight
The leaping search-lights go.

They lift and lower, they shift and glance,
Pause, point, then forward run,
And couch an ever-wheeling lance
Where foeman there is none.

Now since our darkness gives us light
Such lovely things to see,
Here let the tale be told aright
For all posterity:

How through the years, while bloody Mars
Smote mortals for their sins,
London's dim streets were lit with stars
Because of Zeppelins.

So, at our need, let Heaven engage
As kind a part to play,
And show to mortals blind with rage
The stars upon their way.