A RIVER OF FIRE

Tigris! Tigris! burning bright
In the flames that came each night,
What crazed mortal's hand or eye
Could use thee for a cemetery?

In what South and in what Shires
Skulked the planners of thy pyres?
On what wings dared they arise?
With what dark arts fired they thy skies?

And what weapons, and what art,
Could rend men's sinews round thy heart?
And when those hearts had ceased to beat,
Where blew their hands? and where their feet?

What the bomber? what the gain?
In what charnel House, what brain?
What the DU? what death gasp
Satisfied their terror's clasp?

When Sky news beamed down such fears,
To leaders shamed by victims' tears,
Did they smile their work to see?
Did they who praise the Lamb burn thee?

Tigris! Tigris! burning bright
In the flames that came each night,
What crazed mortal's hand or eye
Could use thee for a cemetery?

                    (Apologies to William Blake)

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