HAPPY the man whose home is still In Nature's green and peaceful ways; To wake and hear the birds so loud, That scream for joy to see the sun Is shouldering past a sullen cloud. And we have known those days, when we Would wait to hear the cuckoo first; When you and I, with thoughtful mind, Would help a bird to hide her nest, For fear of other hands less kind. But thou, my friend, art lying dead: War, with its hell-born childishness, Has claimed thy life, with many more: The man that loved this England well, And never left it once before. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...CAMPUS SONNET: MAY MORNING by STEPHEN VINCENT BENET THE WRECK OF THE CIRCUS TRAIN by HAYDEN CARRUTH THE ORANGE PICKER by DAVID IGNATOW DE LITTLE PICKANINNY'S GONE TO SLEEP by JAMES WELDON JOHNSON THE BOOK OF STONES AND LILIES by AMY LOWELL |