I WALKED in loamy Wessex lanes, afar From rail-track and from highway, and I heard In field and farmstead many an ancient word Of local lineage like 'Thu bist', 'Er war', 'Ich woll', 'Er sholl', and by-talk similar, Nigh as they speak who in this month's moon gird At England's very loins, thereunto spurred By gangs whose glory threats and slaughters are. Then seemed a Heart crying: 'Whosoever they be At root and bottom of this, who flung this flame Between kin folk kin tongued even as are we, 'Sinister, ugly, lurid, be their fame; May their familiars grow to shun their name, And their brood perish everlastingly.' | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SANDHILL PEOPLE by CARL SANDBURG KING DAVID by STEPHEN VINCENT BENET SIGISMONDA AND GUISCARDO by GIOVANNI BOCCACCIO THE TWELVE-FORTY-FIVE (FOR EDWARD J. WHEELER) by ALFRED JOYCE KILMER THE BATTLE OF NASEBY by THOMAS BABINGTON MACAULAY IN MEMORIAM A.H.H.: 101 by ALFRED TENNYSON ODES: BOOK 2: ODE 13. TO AUTHOR OF MEMOIRS OF HOUSE OF BRANDENBURGH by MARK AKENSIDE |