After the raid
There was smoke that lifted shapeless heads
And took the sky upon its back;
And there were flame-lights within clouds
And ruddy glows on roof and wall.
But when you.
Little frail lady next door,
Came tending roses on your tiny lawn
I knew that we had won the night,
And that your humble rose tree
Was the great calm heart
Of Britain’s citadel invincible.
I saw that now the City stood in pride,
Crowned with a rosy crown of martyrdom.