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Gilbert Keith Chesterton - Modern Elfland
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I Cut a staff in a churchyard copse,
  I clad myself in ragged things,
I set a feather in my cap
  That fell out of an angel`s wings.

I filled my wallet with white stones,
  I took three foxgloves in my hand,
I slung my shoes across my back,
  And so I went to fairyland.

But Lo, within that ancient place
  Science had reared her iron crown,
And the great cloud of steam went up
  That telleth where she takes a town.

But cowled with smoke and starred with lamps
  That strange land`s light was still its own;
The word that witched the woods and hills
  Spoke in the iron and the stone.

Not Nature`s hand had ever curved
  That mute unearthly porter`s spine.
Like sleeping dragon`s sudden eyes
  The signals leered along the line.

The chimneys thronging crooked or straight
  Were fingers signalling the sky;
The dog that strayed across the street
  Seemed four-legged by monstrosity.

`In vain,` I cried, `though you too touch
  The new time`s desecrating hand,
Through all the noises of a town
  I hear the heart of fairyland.`

I read the name above a door,
  Then through my spirit pealed and passed:
`This is the town of thine own home,
  And thou hast looked on it at last.`
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