大象传媒

"I wrote the poem 鈥淟ondon October 3rd 1940鈥� published in a book of poems in 1941 and later the subject of a broadcast alongside poems by Eric Gill and Edith Sitwell."

LONDON, OCTOBER 3RD, 1940.
A mighty city trembled in its heart
As one by one its buildings tumbled down.
Ah, Wordsworth, what would you say now
Were you to see the ruins of this town?
Perhaps, like me, you鈥檇 read the bitter tale
Writ underneath these sad and crumbling walls
Of people who have lived and loved and dreamed,
Then vanished ere those dreams had been fulfilled.
Eyes that like yours have watched the flowing Thames,
And faces that have smiled with self-content.
Yes, still they smile, though homeless and unslept,
And breathe a grateful prayer that still they live.
Aye, Wordsworth, people pray in London now鈥�
For where death comes, God knows and sees and cares.

Death鈥檚 chilling breath hangs nightly overhead
Amid the thunder of a thousand guns.
A breathless hush, and then Death鈥檚 finger points
Unerring claim upon a home condemned,
Then waits awhile before it stabs again
And passes on while people sob and groan.

Within those homes once lived the friends I knew,
And once their laughter echoed in their rooms.
Now all is silent. Slowly fall the clouds
Of brick-dust where the alcove used to be.
A book lies idly by a tattered gown鈥�
The story of a life abruptly ends.

And I could tell of countless lives that gave
A promise of far better days ahead.
Of eyes that gazed into another鈥檚 face
And set the heart a-flutter with their light;
Of thoughts of love that shaped a thousand dreams;
Of minds that planned a future full of hope.

And as I make my way among the stones
A thousand stories clamour in my ears,
Of wounds in many hearts that cannot heal,
And eyes that gaze out through a mist of tears.

Some loved and died together hand in hand,
And some have loved and left a lonely heart.
And there are some who should have dearly loved
But left too late the word that could have brought
An hour of joy within the anxious days.

The stars shine down upon a ruined street,
The moon-light shows the gaps among the walls.
Somewhere among those wrecks there faintly beats
Unsteadily the hearts of those who seek
Protection from the awful touch of death.
And with their problems pressing on them still
They battle on and on from day to day.
And some there are whose hearts will ache no more,
For now refreshing sleep has closed their eyes
Till God has set each soul upon its course.

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