“Over the darkened city, the city of towers,
The city of a thousand gates,
Over the gleaming terraced roofs, the huddled towers,
Over a somnolent whisper of loves and hates,
The slow wind flows, drearily streams and falls,
With a mournful sound down rain-dark walls.”

“What is that sound high in the air
Murmur of maternal lamentation
Who are those hooded hordes swarming
Over endless plains, stumbling in cracked earth
Ringed by the flat horizon only
What is the city over the mountains
Cracks and reforms and bursts in the violet air
Falling towers
Jerusalem Athens Alexandria
Vienna London
Unreal”

“From high black walls, gleaming vaguely with rain,
Each yellow light looked down like a golden eye.
They trembled from coign to coign, and tower to tower,
Along high terraces quicker than dream they flew.
And some of them steadily glowed, and some soon vanished,
And some strange shadows threw.”

“Over the ships that are anchored,
Over the fleets that part,
Over the cities dark by the shore,
High as a dream thou art!”

“If high stream of dreams and truth be told
and our intentions be entwined
then from these high flung tower walls
let healing grace and blessings fall
over all this cracked and broken land
from northern crag to southern down
from Universal Hall to Camden town
from city square to village green
from parliament to housing scheme
from Iona to the the Hill of Dreams
I sacrifice my power on the altar of your love
that it may be born again on another world.”

“Towered cities please us then,
And the busy hum of men.”

“There's a city, draped in net
Fisherman net
And in the half light, in the half light
It looks like every tower
Is covered in webs
Moving and glistening and rocking
It's babies in rhythm
As the spider of time is climbing
Over the ruins.”

“There is a blood red circle
On the cold dark ground.
And the rain is falling down.
The church door's thrown open;
I can hear the organ's song.
But the congregation's gone.
My city of ruins.
My city of ruins.”

“I stood on the bridge at midnight,
As the clocks were striking the hour,
And the moon rose o'er the city,
Behind the dark church-tower.”

“There is a city, that for slaves
Has kings, and nations, winds, and waves:
St. Mark is conscious of her power,
His winged lion marks her tower.”