Classic and Contemporary Poetry
STANE STREET, by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN Poet Analysis Poet's Biography First Line: Mown, strown are the grayhead grasses Last Line: The ringer ceasing, lingers long. Alternate Author Name(s): Blunden, Edmund | ||||||||
I MOWN, strown are the grayhead grasses, Red sorrels with them lie; The buttercup's beauty passes And the proud moon-daisies die. The birds have hid in the coppice, For the drought has had long lease, Sleepy with bees and poppies; Birdsongs, brooksongs cease. Brown stems and wan white petals Of crowsfoot trammel the brook; Wild hops and sloven nettles Shut out its sunny look. And muddy and busy with midges Is every tarrying plash, And under the culverts and bridges Horse-stingers thwart and flash. Our Arun is sluggish and fenny, Like water of marlpit or moat, Meshed thick with slimed weeds many And stout-stemmed yellow clote. II This way the broad leys seemed to me As we went riding on Where rode the Roman cavalry Two thousand years agone: The Stane Street, clad in dust and glare, Had lost the mystery That garlands relics great and rare Of far antiquity. Yet there was beauty all the same, As we went riding on, In every sturdy yeoman name The signposts bade us con: As Storrington berhymed of late, And (ere that) Alversane, Whence all the hazed hills seemed to wait With blurred weak eyes for rain. And as we came to Pulborough town Storm rose from Arundel, The first hot rain came splashing down, Thunder began to knell. The tempest worked up fever-pace, White hissed the bubbles flung; Wild sudden freshets ran their race, The fleetfoot winds were sprung. We sheltered till the short-lived shower Had stilled the thunder's wrath, And fragrances of leaf and flower Flew forth from plat and swath: The bevying clouds thinned into light Like locks of silvery hair; And tree and spire, and house and height Looked clear through glistening air. Then southward still we went well pleased, In love with every rural thing, And, now the heat-god was appeased, The sweet small birds were brave to sing: But, ere another mile was rode, We came to Hardham, shy as fair And by the little church we slowed Descrying steps of beauty there. III The little gate latch clinked and stopped, We trod the churchway, white and warm With flagstones drying from the storm, Though lichened gravestones still stood sopped And splashes from the church eaves dropped. All hushed we reached the porch, and found The door ajar: we entered in, Such trancing rest from dust and din Held us a moment's space spell-bound. Then we for gladness looked around. The dim-traced paintings on the wall, The brown initialled altar-rail, The altar with its breded vail, The vague light that the panes let fall, The pulpit and the vestry small -- No trophies, no begilded shows Can bring the soul of holiness To make her hermitage and bless Where pride and strife and dogma prose To hypocrites in gaudy rows. The smallest things are made divine, The old low pews, the narrow tiles Deep red, that pave the tiny aisles, The books whose gildings no more shine -- O hamlet church, O heavenly shrine. Wherever Faith kneeled simple-strong Of old, the memory abides; Dead rose whose silken fragrance glides Still from her leaves; tolled bell whose song, The ringer ceasing, lingers long. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...FOREFATHERS by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN REPORT ON EXPERIENCE by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN SOLUTIONS by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN THE GIANT PUFFBALL by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN THE MIDNIGHT SKATERS by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN VLAMERTINGHE: PASSING THE CHATEAU, JULY 1917 by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN 11TH R.S.R. by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN 1916 SEEN FROM 1921 by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN A 'FIRST IMPRESSION': TOKYO by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN A BRIDGE by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN |
|