Classic Poem

Iron birds floating in the sky
Prey remorselessly
On the tiny obscure dot
That is some great city,
Below, men-insects rend and tear,
Women wring hands of pity.

I have flown a hundred miles
Over the blurred plain,
Dropping devastation and death,
Blotting men's nerves with pain —
Their miserable cries were tiny as insects'
Calling their God in vain.

The sound of their oaths and lamentations
Could not even reach up to me,
The clouds were at peace, no tribulation
Disturbed the sky-harmony,
Only my buzzing clanged
And my heart beat dreadfully.

I laughed as I silently tossed blind Death
Down on that insect people,
Dreadful it was in the peaceful sky
To murder that insect people,
And never to hear a sound or cry,
Or a bell toll in a steeple.

I laughed when my last bloody bomb had gone,
I shrieked high up in a cloud,
I wanted to fly in the face of their God
And spit my disdain aloud,
I ripped through the terrified whistling air
And burst through the earth's damp shroud.

Ah! it was blue there, wide and clear.
Dancing alive in the sun,
And millions of bright sweet cymbals rang
Praising the deeds I had done,
And millions of angels cheering stood
Deep-columned around the Sun.

And then I stood erect and cheered,
Ay! shouted into the sky,
I filled the vast semicircle round,
There was only the Sun and I,
The round, red, glittering, blazing Sun
And a fluttering human fly.