They have pictured Peace at the wheel and loom While swallows chirp in the nested eaves; They have shown you fields with their tawny sheaves And meadow vales where the daisies bloom. But War rides out to the trumpet shout, In scarlet and gold and silver and blue. His strong old song throbs hard in you, And you swing to your saddle with never a doubt. They have pictured Peace in mauve and gray, The pale old man in cowl and gown, Walled in from the quiet old-world town, Chanting the twilight hours away. But down in the pushing, lusting crowd, Down in the weary, sweating throng, The faint, slow notes of Evensong Are lost, for the horns of War are loud. So Peace must come as a troubadour, Singing to thatch and turret and spire, Of smoking feast and of ruddy fire, Of sleeping babes for the rich and poor. But the song of Peace must soar and rise To high adventure and pain and death, For Youth will wager his dying breath For a cause that wings to the very skies. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...DIRGE IN WOODS by GEORGE MEREDITH SATIRES: 51. UPON NOTHING by JOHN WILMOT BROADWAY IN THE OZARKS: NIGHT by BETTY CORBETT BASSETT THE LAST MAN: SPEAKER'S MEANING DIMLY DESCRIBED by THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES HADRIAN IN EGYPT by GORDON BOTTOMLEY |