Spring MCMXL

London Bridge is falling down, Rome's burnt and Babylon The Great is now but dust; yet still Spring must Swing back through Time's continual arc to earth. Though every land become as a black field Dunged with the dead, drenched by the dying's blood, Still must a punctual goddess waken and ascend The rocky stairs, up into earth's chilled air, And pass upon her mission through those carrion ranks, Picking her way among a maze of broken brick To quicken with her footsteps the short sooty grass between; While now once more their futile matchwood empires flare and blaze And through the smoke men gaze with bloodshot eyes At the translucent apparition, clad in trembling nascent green Of one they still can recognize, though scarcely understand.