Classic Poem

Where ancient hovels stood so close
They shut off all the sunny weather,
One day men saw with poles and crows
A gay young troop come there together.
Then dust and chaff
Rose up like smoke,
As plank and lath
Apart they broke.
The rotten wood,
As dry as snuff,
Whirled 'round, with lime
And other stuff.
And axes laid
The timbers low,
And walls were felled
With stalwart blow.
The pick-axe ripped,
The hooks took hold,
And down the roofs
And chimneys rolled.
From hut to hut
The wreckers went
Till one and all
To earth were sent.

Just then by chance an old man came
And with amazement saw the tearing.
He stood; to him it seemed a shame
As mid the ruins he'd been faring.

“What do you mean to build, good men?
Will there be streets of villas made here?”
“We shall not build it up again.
We 're clearing for an esplanade here.”

“Such are the times: to break and tear!
But to build up—oh, that were frightful!”
“We break to give you light and air;
Is not, perhaps, our method rightful?”