Clifford's Tower Poem by William Barton

In York there is a castle,
Its name is Clifford's Tower.
Around the hill the traffic swirls
And passes hour by hour.

In springtime flowers are blooming
To make a rich array.
The old grey stones are rich with light
And turn the night to day.

There was a time within the walls
When hatred lit the fuse;
The burning mob rejoiced to hear
The cries of slaughtered Jews.

When Autumn leaves are falling,
And flowers are faded quite,
The ghosts of Clifford's Tower
Keep vigil through the night.

Summer time or Winter -
Whichever you may choose -
Still faintly in the distance sounds
The lamentation of the Jews.