See that satan pollarding a tree,
That geometric man straightening a road:
Surely such passions are perverse and odd
That violate windows and set the north wind free.
No doubt tomorrow the world will be too straight.
Five hundred miles an hour will churn our dreams
Like surprised whales, when we lie a dead weight
In an ignorant sleep, and things will be what they seem.
Tomorrow we will hear on the gramophone
The music of the Spheres, registered H.M.V.
By a divorced contralto: we shall perhaps
Meet Adam under glass in a museum
Fleshless and most unlovely, complete with pedigree.
Or else, tomorrow, workers, kings and crooks
Will all have aeroplanes and be fast friends,
In a world no longer divided by dividends,
Where love will be almost as simple as it looks.
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Comments about this poem (Progression by Francis Scarfe )
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(27 October 1914 – 9 November 1953)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
David Herbert Lawrence
(11 September 1885 – 2 March 1930)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
(30 December 1865 – 18 January 1936)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
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- A Child's Christmas in Wales, Dylan Thomas
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