To R.S. Thomas

I looked across the valley scene
And a thousand years of blood
Flowed down the green
Hills that rolled purpling into
The evening clouds. And this land,
Smeared with the tragedy of history,
With tales told and legends sung -
Half-remembered memories
In a half-forgotten tongue.
And, forged in bronze-age minds,
The links of time that shackle us now
Will not break but, held fast
In our mindset,
We only look back to the past.

Then again across the valley I looked
To a modern factory in steel and glass,
Touched by a beam of sun,
And there in the light I read the words:

And now the East is come.