A Refusal To Mourn The Death, By Fire, Of A Child In London
Never
until
the
mankind
making
Bird
beast
and
flower
Fathering
and
all
humbling
darkness
Tells
with
silence
the
last
light
breaking
And
the
still
hour
Is
come
of
the
sea
tumbling
in
harness
And
I
must
enter
again
the
round
Zion
of
the
water
bead
And
the
synagogue
of
the
ear
of
corn
Shall
I
let
pray
the
shadow
of
a
sound
Or
sow
my
salt
seed
In
the
least
valley
of
sackcloth
to
mourn
The
majesty
and
burning
of
the
child's
death.
I
shall
not
murder
The
mankind
of
her
going
with
a
grave
truth
Nor
blaspheme
down
the
stations
of
the
breath
With
any
further
Elegy
of
innocence
and
youth.
Deep
with
the
first
dead
lies
London's
daughter,
Robed
in
the
long
friends,
The
grains
beyond
age,
the
dark
veins
of
her
mother,
Secret
by
the
unmourning
water
Of
the
riding
Thames.
After
the
first
death,
there
is
no
other.
