Classic and Contemporary Poetry
THE PASTURE POND, by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN Poet Analysis Poet's Biography First Line: By the pasture pond alone Last Line: Their solitary pasture-pond. Alternate Author Name(s): Blunden, Edmund Subject(s): England; Lakes; Landscape; English; Pools; Ponds | ||||||||
By the pasture pond alone I'll call the landscape all my own, Be the lord of all I see From water-fly to topmost tree, And on these riches gloat this day Till the blue mist warns away. Here's no malice that could wither Joy's blown flower, nor dare come hither; No hot hurry such as drives Men through their unsolaced lives; Here like bees I cannot fare A span but find some honey there. The small birds and great as well In these trees and closes dwell, No cause found to grudge or brawl, For nature gives enough for all; Crows don't care what starling delves Among these mole-heaps like themselves. You thrush that haunt the mellow ground And run with those quick glances round, You'll run and revel through my brain For a blue moon befooling pain; You elms so full of birds and song, Wear green coats there the winter long. From the meadows smooth and still, Where the peewits feed their fill And into swirling rings upfly With white breasts dazzling on the eye, To the pool itself I come And like rapture am struck dumb: For if fields and air are free The water's double liberty, Where milch cows dewlap-deep may wade Or hernshaw ply his angling trade -- Else what but vision dares intrude That many-peopled solitude? The astonished clouds seem lingering here For dragon-flies so whip and veer And take the sun and turn to flame, They'd make the fastest cloud seem lame, Or breaths of wind that sometimes fly And cut faint furrows and are by. So well may I admire the pool Where thistles with their caps of wool (Whence those sly winds some flecks purloin) Stand sentinels at every coign, And sorrels rusty-red have banned Each place the thistles left unmanned. But passing through, an old ally, Into the bright deeps I may spy, Where merry younkers, roach or rudd, Jump for the fly and flounce and scud; That care for no one now, and live For every pleasure pools can give. In russet weeds, by the sunken boat, That spare each other room to float, They hide along, grown fine and fat; I hear them like a lapping cat Feed from the stems till hunger's done -- Then out afresh to find the sun. The moorhen, too, as proud as they, With jerking neck is making way In horse-shoe creeks where old pike rest And beetles skate in jostling jest; And overhead as large as wrens Dance hobby-horses of the fens -- From all these happy folk I find Life's radiance kindle in my mind, And even when homeward last I turn How bright the hawthorn berries burn, How steady in the old elm still The great woodpecker strikes his bill; Whose labour oft in vain is given, Yet never he upbraids high heaven; Such trust is his. O I have heard No sweeter from a singing bird Than his tap-tapping there this day, That said what words will never say. But bells from humble steeples call, Nor will I be the last of all To pass between the ringers strong And as of old make evensong; While over pond and plat and hall The first of sleep begins to fall. Time, like an ever-rolling stream! Through the yew the sun's last gleam Lights into a glory extreme The squirrel-carven pews that dream Of my fathers far beyond Their solitary pasture-pond. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A MAN GETS OFF WORK EARLY by THOMAS LUX THE FRIARY AT BLOSSOM, PROLOGUE & INSTRUCTIONS by NORMAN DUBIE SONGS FOR TWO SEASONS: 2. RED POND by CAROL FROST ALMSWOMEN by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN |
|