If you could bring her glories back! <br />You gentle sirs who sift the dust <br />And burrow in the mould and must <br />Of Babylon for bric-a-brac; <br />Who catalogue and pigeon-hole <br />The faded splendours of her soul <br />And put her greatness under glass - <br />If you could bring her past to pass! <br />If you could bring her dead to life! <br />The soldier lad; the market wife; <br />Madam buying fowls from her; <br />Tip, the butcher's bandy cur; <br />Workmen carting bricks and clay; <br />Babel passing to and fro <br />On the business of a day <br />Gone three thousand years ago - <br />That you cannot; then be done, <br />Put the goblet down again, <br />Let the broken arch remain, <br />Leave the dead men's dust alone - <br />Is it nothing how she lies, <br />This old mother of you all, <br />You great cities proud and tall <br />Towering to a hundred skies <br />Round a world she never knew, <br />Is it nothing, this, to you? <br />Must the ghoulish work go on <br />Till her very floors are gone? <br />While there's still a brick to save <br />Drive these people from her grave! <br />The Jewish seer when he cried <br />Woe to Babel's lust and pride <br />Saw the foxes at her gates; <br />Once again the wild thing waits. <br />Then leave her in her last decay <br />A house of owls, a foxes' den; <br />The desert that till yesterday <br />Hid her from the eyes of men <br />In its proper time and way <br />Will take her to itself again.<br /><br />Ralph Hodgson<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/babylon-12/
