THE broken soldier sings and whistles day to dark; He's but the remnant of a man, maimed and half-blind, But the soul they could not harm goes singing like the lark, Like the incarnate Joy that will not be confined. The Lady at the Hall has given him a light task, He works in the gardens as busy as a bee; One hand is but a stump and his face a pitted mask; The gay soul goes singing like a bird set free. Whistling and singing like a linnet on wings; The others stop to listen, leaning on the spade, Whole men and comely, they fret at little things. The soul of him's singing like a thrush in a glade. Hither and thither, hopping, like Robin on the grass, The soul in the broken man is beautiful and brave; And while he weeds the pansies and the bright hours pass, The bird caught in the cage whistles its joyous stave. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...POSTHUMOUS by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON SECOND BOOK OF AIRS: SONG 3 by GAIUS VALERIUS CATULLUS BROTHERS by JAMES WELDON JOHNSON A DIRGE by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI THE THORN by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH THE MORAL FABLES: THE FOX, THE WOLF, AND THE HUSBANDMAN by AESOP THE PLEASURES OF IMAGINATION; A POEM. ENLARGED VERSION: BOOK 4 by MARK AKENSIDE |