Not forever shall the Lord of the red hail

Dylan Thomas

1914 to 1953

Poem Image
Track 1

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The lines of earth, the curving of the heart,
And from this darkness spin the golden soul.
Shall fall away, and leave one singing shell.
The stock and steel that bayonet from the mud,
He shall be wise and let his brimstone spill,
The fields yet undivided behind the skull.
How soon, how soon, O lord of the red hail!
Free from their burning nests the arrows’ brood.
And loud his anger stamp upon the hill.
A hole in space shall keep the shape of thought,
And sweet shall fall contagion from his side,
Shall drown the boys of battle in their swill,
Hold in his velvet hand the can of blood;
Both mind and matter at the scalding word
Intangible my world shall come to naught,
As fire falls, two hemispheres divide,
The solid world shall wither in the heat,
Not forever shall the Lord of the red hail

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