WHEN will you ever, Peace, wild wooddove, shy wings shut, Your round me roaming end, and under be my boughs? When, when, Peace, will you, Peace? I'll not play hypocrite To own my heart: I yield you do come sometimes; but That piecemeal peace is poor peace. What pure peace allows Alarms of wars, the daunting wars, the death of it? O surely, reaving Peace, my Lord should leave in lieu Some good! And so he does leave Patience exquisite, That plumes to Peace thereafter. And when Peace here does house He comes with work to do, he does not come to coo, He comes to brood and sit. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...DOMESDAY BOOK: THE JURY DELIBERATES by EDGAR LEE MASTERS THE CONTRACT by EMILY DICKINSON THE VILLAGE BLACKSMITH by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW SEA BUTTERFLIES by DON BLANDING ECHOES OF SPRING: 10 by MATHILDE BLIND |