On the idle hill of summer, Sleepy with the flow of streams, Far I hear the steady drummer Drumming like a noise in dreams. Far and near and low and louder On the roads of earth go by, Dear to friends and food for powder, Soldiers marching, all to die. East and west on fields forgotten Bleach the bones of comrades slain, Lovely lads and dead and rotten; None that go return again. Far the calling bugles hollo, High the screaming fife replies, Gay the files of scarlet follow: Woman bore me, I will rise. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...PLAYING JACKS IN BHAKTAPUR by KAREN SWENSON THE BLACK RIDERS: 22 by STEPHEN CRANE THE FLOWER OF FINAE by THOMAS OSBORNE DAVIS A COUNTRY BURIAL by EMILY DICKINSON ULTIMA THULE: NIGHT by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW SIR JOHN FRANKLIN; ON THE CENTOTAPH IN WESTMINSTER ABBEY by ALFRED TENNYSON |