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Alun Lewis - A Welsh Night Lyrics

Fine flame of silver birches flickers
Along the coal-tipped misty slopes
Of Old Garth mountain who tonight
Lies grey as a sermon of patience
For the threadbare congregations of the anxious.
Huddles in black-out rows the streets
Hoard the hand-pressed human warmth
Of families round a soap-scrubbed table;
Munition girls with yellow hands
Clicking bone needles over khaki scarves,
Schoolboys' painful numerals in a book,
A mother's chilblained fingers soft
Upon the bald head of a suckling child,
But no man in the house to clean the grate
Or bolt thе outside door or share the night.
Yеt everywhere through cracks of light
Faint strokes of thoughtfulness feel out
Into the throbbing night's malevolence,
And turn its hurt to gentler ways.

Hearing the clock strike midnight by the river
This village buried deeper than the corn
Bows its blind head beneath the angelic planes,
And cherishing all known and suffered harm
It wears the darkness like a shroud or shawl.