Cut down that timber! Bells, too many and strong,Pouring their music through the branches bare,From moon-white church towers down the windy air
Have pealed the centuries out with Evensong.Remove those cottages, a huddled throng!Too many babies have been born in there,Too many coffins, bumping down the stair,
Carried the old their garden paths along.I have a Vision of the Future, chum,The workers' flats in fields of soya beansTower up like silver pencils, score on score:
And Surging Millions hear the Challenge comeFrom microphones in communal canteens"No Right! No Wrong! All's perfect, evermore!"