The Poets & The War XXXV
(Si monumentum requiris, circumspice)
Old London's time-encrusted walls
Are but the work of human hands.
What man has fashioned for us falls;
What God has breathed into us stands.
What if the splendour of the past
Is shattered into dust, we raise
A monument that shall outlast
Even the Abbey's span of days.
On broken homes we set our feet
And raise proud heads that all may see,
Immortal in each little street,
The soul in its integrity.
– The Times