Fast train passing fat black cows,
Fields of poppies, fragile in the wind,
Poplars along a meandering river.
In the car the actor closes his eyes,
A thing of beauty is a joy for ever:
It will never
Pass into nothingness.
A violent noise, much confusion,
A bare-chested man holds a machine gun,
Door to blood and death,
Fires random shots.
The text is forgotten,
For a short moment so utterly long
The case seems past hope,
A child becomes a doll torn to pieces.
Soldiers jump and tackle
The abysmal messenger.
Now the tumult ceases.
A thing of beauty
What beauty, innocent poet?
Is a joy for ever
For ever is too late.