Before Invasion, 1940

Still heavy with may, and the sky ready to fall,

Meadows buttercup high, shed and chicken and wire?

And here where the wind leans on a sycamore silver wall,

Are you still taller than sycamores, gallant Victorian spire?

Still, fairly intact, and demolishing squads about,

Bracketed station lamp with your oil-light taken away?

Weep flowering currant, while your bitter cascades are out,

Born in an age of railways, for flowering into to-day!