Page:The ascent of man by Blind, Mathilde.djvu/167



twilight heavens are flushed with gathering light,
 * And o'er wet roofs and huddling streets below
 * Hang with a strange Apocalyptic glow

On the black fringes of the wintry night. Such bursts of glory may have rapt the sight
 * Of him to whom on Patmos long ago
 * The visionary angel came to show

That heavenly city built of chrysolite.

And lo, three factory hands begrimed with soot,
 * Aflame with the red splendour, marvelling stand,

And gaze with lifted faces awed and mute.
 * Starved of earth's beauty by Man's grudging hand,

O toilers, robbed of labour's golden fruit,
 * Ye, too, may feast in Nature's fairyland.