(Written after hearing a wireless speech from Brussels) I am old London with my waste of weeds After five years of warfare, stone from stone Disrupted of my seat, through which the seeds Of wild plants into crowding life have grown. I have heard voices wafted on the air, The tongues of other cities and gay song Of neighbour peoples freed at last from care And casting off the weight of bondage long. "But for thy ruins and thy ravaged walls We had not else been liberated; we (So say the voices) had been ever thralls: We thank thee, London, for thy constancy. London that never fail'dst the human cause, The mansion-house and refuge of the right: There's not a heart to-day but to thee draws, Warm hearth of hope, denier of the night!" So speak the voices, and I love their thanks. What now are weedy courts and shrines forlorn? Does not my Thames between his seaward banks Flow all the prouder this September morn? | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...FREDERICKSBURG by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH THE VOICE OF THE ANCIENT BARD, FR. SONGS OF EXPERIENCE by WILLIAM BLAKE MY OLD KENTUCKY HOME by STEPHEN COLLINS FOSTER THE VEERY'S FLUTE by LUCY BRANCH ALLEN TO HIS WIFE by DECIMUS MAGNUS AUSONIUS TO SLEEP, WHEN SICK OF A FEVER by PHILIP AYRES LOVES MONARCHIE by JOSEPH BEAUMONT |