FROM wrath-red dawn to wrath-red dawn, The guns have brayed without abate; And now the sick sun looks upon The bleared, blood-boltered fields of hate As if it loathed to rise again. How strange the hush! Yet sudden, hark! From yon down-trodden gold of grain, The leaping rapture of a lark. A fusillade of melody, That sprays us from yon trench of sky; A new amazing enemy We cannot silence though we try; A battery on radiant wings, That from yon gap of golden fleece Hurls at us hopes of such strange things As joy and home and love and peace. Pure heart of song! do you not know That we are making earth a hell? Or is it that you try to show Life still is joy and all is well? Brave little wings! Ah, not in vain You beat into that bit of blue: Lo! we who pant in war's red rain Lift shining eyes, see Heaven too. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...LUCASIA, ROSANIA, AND ORINDA PARTING AT A FOUNTAIN by KATHERINE PHILIPS FROLIC by GEORGE WILLIAM RUSSELL YEW-TREES by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH TO FURIUS ON POVERTY by FRANKLIN PIERCE ADAMS IF I ONLY WAS THE FELLOW by WILL S. ADKIN A DISMISSAL by LOUISA SARAH BEVINGTON VILLAGE GREEN by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN FIVE LITTLE WANDERINGS: 3. YOUTH by BERTON BRALEY TOWARDS DEMOCRACY: PART 3. THESE POPULATIONS by EDWARD CARPENTER |