Westminster Cathedral Tower

 

Still finger pointing to the frosty stars
From out the glare and seething life below,
Grim and clear-cut against the background glow,
Silent amid the scream of thudding cars.
To crushed humanity, from out the scars
That blemish earth’s fair face in all its woes,
And the full tide of sin that ceaseless flows
About thy foot and fain would lick thy bars,
Point ever upwards. At thy base may burn
Many a passion; fierce may be the strife
And orgy; but man’s eyes will surely turn
Where thou cleavest the night like a great knife
And they shall by thy silent guidance learn
The way to truth and everlasting life.

Seventy-fifth Sonnet

9. 11. 30