The twilight heavens are flushed with gathering light, <br />And o'er wet roofs and huddling streets below <br />Hang with a strange Apocalyptic glow <br />On the black fringes of the wintry night. <br />Such bursts of glory may have rapt the sight <br />Of him to whom on Patmos long ago <br />The visionary angel came to show <br />That heavenly city built of chrysolite. <br /> <br />And lo, three factory hands begrimed with soot, <br />Aflame with the red splendour, marvelling stand, <br />And gaze with lifted faces awed and mute. <br />Starved of earth's beauty by Man's grudging hand, <br />O toilers, robbed of labour's golden fruit, <br />Ye, too, may feast in Nature's fairyland.<br /><br />Mathilde Blind<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-red-sunsets-i-1883/
