A gas-proof ghost, I climbed the stair
To find how priceless paintings fare
When corpses, chemically killed,
Lie hunched and twisted in the stilled
Disaster of Trafalgar Square.

To time's eternities I came;
And found the Virgin of the Rocks
Dreaming with downward eyes the same
Apocalypse of peace . . . The claim
Of Art was disallowed. Past locks
And walls crass war had groped, and gas
Was tarnishing each gilded frame.