I cut a staff in a churchyard copse, <br /> I clad myself in ragged things, <br />I set a feather in my cap <br /> That fell out of an angel's wings. <br /> <br />I filled my wallet with white stones, <br /> I took three foxgloves in my hand, <br />I slung my shoes across my back, <br /> And so I went to fairyland. <br /> <br />But lo, within that ancient place <br /> Science had reared her iron crown, <br />And the great cloud of steam went up <br /> That telleth where she takes a town. <br /> <br />But cowled with smoke and starred with lamps, <br /> That strange land's light was still its own; <br />The word that witched the woods and hills <br /> Spoke in the iron and the stone. <br /> <br />Not Nature's hand had ever curved <br /> That mute unearthly porter's spine. <br />Like sleeping dragon's sudden eyes <br /> The signals leered along the line. <br /> <br />The chimneys thronging crooked or straight <br /> Were fingers signalling the sky; <br />The dog that strayed across the street <br /> Seemed four-legged by monstrosity. <br /> <br />‘In vain,' I cried, ‘though you too touch <br /> The new time's desecrating hand, <br />Through all the noises of a town <br /> I hear the heart of fairyland.' <br /> <br />I read the name above a door, <br /> Then through my spirit pealed and passed: <br />‘This is the town of thine own home, <br /> And thou hast looked on it at last.'<br /><br />Gilbert Keith Chesterton<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/modern-elfland/
