THE TWO WORLDS To JONATHAN SWIFT BOLDEST of the writing
tribe, Master of the killing gibe, Here is work that none but you Craftsman-like could carry through.
When you last observed our earth Statesmen shuddered at your mirth : You'd admit our modern themes Tax your satire's wildest dreams ; Lilliputians and Yahoos Are familiar as our shoes, Symbolise, we now confess, Probity and Cleanliness ; Grave Projectors here invent Poverty, and flesh torment ; Whilst Laputan justice rules, Bombing fractious slums and schools.
You preferred the tone satiric, Used but rarely panegyric ; These times offer equal scope To our loathing and our hope ; Now each harsh day's history craves Praise for men, and scorn for knaves.
For the foulest pigmy crew Pullulates the half-world through, Crushing under bully heels All that finely grows or feels, And would dowse the spirit's lamp In a concentration camp.
These would not intimidate You who dared a savage fate,
Faced a strong and ruthless foe
For a hope you could not know, But with darkness at your back Dealt the great a mighty crack, Battling like a classic hero Petty tyrants vile as Nero ; Yet the blood-born future shims Through the fury of your lines, And its steely walls are reared Over jungle-swamps you cleared : Your negation now turns fact, Men grow noble as they act ; And the justice you invoke Men are building stroke by stroke, Where people are accounted wealth And liberty society's health. EDGELL RICKWORD.
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