Classic and Contemporary Poetry
MOTLEY, by WALTER JOHN DE LA MARE Poet Analysis Poet's Biography First Line: Come, death, I'd have a word with thee Last Line: Tis time thy prayers were said! Alternate Author Name(s): Ramal, Walter; De La Mare, Walter Variant Title(s): The Fool Rings His Bells Subject(s): World War I; First World War | ||||||||
Come, Death, I'd have a word with thee; And thou, poor Innocency; And Love -- a Lad with broken wing; And Pity, too: The Fool shall sing to you, As Fools will sing. Ay, music hath small sense, And a tune's soon told, And Earth is old, And my poor wits are dense; Yet have I secrets, -- dark, my dear, To breathe you all. Come near. And lest some hideous listener tells, I'll ring my bells. They are all at war! -- Yes, yes, their bodies go 'Neath burning sun and icy star To chaunted songs of woe, Dragging cold cannon through a mire Of rain and blood and spouting fire, The new moon glinting hard on eyes Wide with insanities! Ssh!. . . I use words I hardly know the meaning of; And the mute birds Are glancing at Love From out their shade of leaf and flower, Trembling at treacheries Which even in noonday cower. Heed, heed not what I said Of frenzied hosts of men, More fools than I, On envy, hatred fed, Who kill, and die -- Spake I not plainly, then? Yet Pity whispered, 'Why?' And Death -- no ears hath. He hath supped where creep Eyeless worms in hush of sleep; Yet, when he smiles, the hand he draws Athwart his grinning jaws -- Faintly the thin bones rattle, and -- there, there! Hearken how my bells in the air Drive away care!. . . Nay, but a dream I had Of a world all mad. Not simple happy mad like me, Who am mad like an empty scene Of water and willow tree, Where the wind hath been; But that foul Satan-mad, Who rots in his own head, And counts the dead, Not honest one -- and two -- But for the ghosts they were, Brave, faithful, true, When, head in air, In Earth's clear green and blue Heaven they did share With beauty who bade them there. . . . There, now! Death goes -- Mayhap I've wearied him. Ay, and the light doth dim; And asleep's the rose; And tired Innocence In dreams is hence. . . . Come, Love, my lad, Nodding that drowsy head, 'Tis time thy prayers were said! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...D'ANNUNZIO by ERNEST HEMINGWAY 1915: THE TRENCHES by CONRAD AIKEN TO OUR PRESIDENT by KATHARINE LEE BATES THE HORSES by KATHARINE LEE BATES CHILDREN OF THE WAR by KATHARINE LEE BATES THE U-BOAT CREWS by KATHARINE LEE BATES THE RED CROSS NURSE by KATHARINE LEE BATES WAR PROFITS by KATHARINE LEE BATES THE UNCHANGEABLE by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN ALL THAT'S PAST by WALTER JOHN DE LA MARE |
|