LAD, and can you rest now, There beneath your hill! Your hands are on your breast now But is your heart so still? 'Twas the right death to die, lad, A gift without regret, But unless truth's a lie, lad, You dream of Devon yet. Ay, ay, the year's awaking, The fire's among the ling, The beechen hedge is breaking, The curlew's on the wing; Primroses are out, lad, On the high banks of Lee, And the sun stirs the trout, lad, From Brendon to the sea. I know what's in your heart, lad, -- The mare he used to hunt -- And her blue market-cart, lad, With posies tied in front -- We miss them from the moor road, They're getting old to roam, The road they're on's a sure road And nearer, lad, to home. Your name, the name they cherish? 'Twill fade, lad, 'tis true: But stone and all may perish With little loss to you. While fame's fame you're Devon, lad, The Glory of the West; Till the roll's called in heaven, lad, You may well take your rest. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...DEDICATION OF THE FIRST SONNETS TO A FRIEND ... by GEORGE SANTAYANA RHYMES OF THE DAY by GEORGE SANTAYANA SONNET TO HIS FRIEND R.L. IN PRAISE OF MUSIQUE AND POETRIE by RICHARD BARNFIELD THE DEATH OF THE HIRED MAN by ROBERT FROST THE CITY OF GOD by SAMUEL JOHNSON (1822-1882) THE TWO RABBIS by JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER |