On a memory of London
and a longing for Wales.


Stretched to the sky, so tall
that I can hardly see the sun
and only dream of summer
glowing in those places I have known ;
And high, so high above
that I can barely see as far,
sunlight is trapped in ivory towers
more glittered than the brightest star.

And in this triumph of decay,
where empires daily rise and daily fall,
I mourn as summer takes it leave,
mourn every minute, every hour of every day.

For I would rather have
the tender windblown grass
about my feet ; feel all the
vibrant high midsummer's heat ;
Be where the sunlight
lies amidst the slant of green
and ancient hills, and watch
the sun glow freely as it ever will..