Encase your legs in nylons,
Bestride your hills with pylonsO age without a soul;
Away with gentle
And all the elmy
That through your valleys roll.
Let's say goodbye to
And roads with grassy
And winding country lanes;
Let all things travel
Where motor car is
Till only Speed remains.
Destroy the ancient
But strew the roads with tin signs'Keep Left,' 'M4,' 'Keep Out!'Command, instruction, warning,
Repetitive
The rockeried roundabout;
For every raw
Must have its small 'amenity,'Its patch of shaven green,
And hoardings look a
In banks of
With floodlights in between.
Leave no old village
Which could provide a
For aeroplanes to roar,
But spare such cheap
As huts with shattered
Unlived-in since the war.
Let no provincial High
Which might be your or my
Look as it used to do,
But let the chain stores place
Their miles of black glass
And traffic thunder through.
And if there is some scenery,
Some unpretentious greenery,
Surviving anywhere,
It does not need
For soon we'll be erectingA Power Station there.
When all our roads are
By concrete monsters
Like gallows overhead,
Bathed in the yellow
Each monster belches from it,
We'll know that we are dead.
