Modern Elfland

I cut a staff in a churchyard copse,I clad myself in ragged things,I set a feather in my capThat fell out of an angel's wings.

I filled my wallet with white stones,I took three foxgloves in my hand,I slung my shoes across my back,And so I went to fairyland.

But Lo, within that ancient placeScience had reared her iron crown,And the great cloud of steam went upThat telleth where she takes a town.

But cowled with smoke and starred with lampsThat strange land's light was still its own;The word that witched the woods and hillsSpoke in the iron and the stone.

Not Nature's hand had ever curvedThat mute unearthly porter's spine.Like sleeping dragon's sudden eyesThe signals leered along the line.

The chimneys thronging crooked or straightWere fingers signalling the sky;The dog that strayed across the streetSeemed four-legged by monstrosity.

'In vain,' I cried, 'though you too touchThe new time's desecrating hand,Through all the noises of a townI hear the heart of fairyland.'

I read the name above a door,Then through my spirit pealed and passed:'This is the town of thine own home,And thou hast looked on it at last.'