WHEN you come to London Town,
Bring your flowers and lay them down
At the place of grieving.
When you come to London Town,
Bow your head and mourn your own,
With the others grieving.
For those minutes, let it wake
All the empty-heart and ache
That is not cured by grieving.
For those minutes, tell no lie:
'Grave, this is thy victory;
And the sting of death is grieving.'
Where's our help, from earth or heaven,
To comfort us for what we've given,
And only gained the grieving.
Heaven's too far and earth too near,
But our neighbour's standing here,
Grieving as we're grieving.
What's his burden every day?
Nothing man can count or weigh,
But loss and love's own grieving.
What is the tie betwixt us two
That must last our whole lives through?
'As I suffer, so do you.'
That may ease the grieving.
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Comments about this poem (London Stone by Rudyard Kipling )
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Still I Rise
Edgar Allan Poe
I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
William Ernest Henley
- Because We Closed Our Eyes, A.j. Binash
- three, laxami Cards
- For Colin McCahon [NZ Painter: 1919 -1987], Keith Johnson
- Why I never visited NZ from OZ in 1970, Keith Johnson
- Dark Lady, Keith Johnson
- Naboth's vineyard, Gert Strydom
- Those Girls, Keith Johnson
- Maybe there is a deep secret, Gert Strydom
- Final Training Flight, Keith Johnson
- The seat divine sees monarchy renew, Keith Johnson