I HARD here in London I have seen The first buds coming Of April green, In the dark tree Of a London square Have watched the nesting Pigeons pair. II Saint George is a fighter, His arm is fear Where England's foemen Lift the spear; The dragons know him, And men who die For England, 'Saint George For England!' cry. III But still as a child, All joy and pity, Little Saint George In London city Wanders alone, And childlike stares At pigeons building In London squares. IV Great Saint George With lance in hand Guards all days Our fatherland, But little Saint George Is charity, He binds the wounds Of the wounded; he Says, 'Sick man, sick man, take your ease, Mend in sight of the London trees Where pigeons mate and softly coo As deep in the distant woods they do.' V Friends, who hold Your wealth and peace Because Saint George Withouten cease Touches your latch Each night that falls, And waits, and waits, Till England calls -- Because he stands In your defence All armed and bright In diligence, Remember, too, The little Saint Who asks your alms For men who faint Because the tumult Drags and sears, For hurt men crying To him who hears, To little Saint George To give them ease Where the pigeons build In London trees. VI Great Saint George Our name defend, Little Saint George Be pity's friend, While we with George The Prince have care Of charity's house Where the pigeons pair. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...GOOD-BYE DOROTHY GAYLE: HOME TO FARGO by KAREN SWENSON THE IDEA OF BALANCE IS TO BE FOUND IN HERONS AND LOONS by JAMES HARRISON SUMMER STORM by JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL THOMAS HOOD by EDWIN ARLINGTON ROBINSON AS I SIT WRITING HERE by WALT WHITMAN THE BALLAD OF READING GAOL by OSCAR WILDE VERSES ON MRS. ROWE by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD |