Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE PITY OF IT, by THOMAS HARDY



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THE PITY OF IT, by             Poet's Biography
First Line: I walked in loamy wessex lanes afar
Last Line: And their brood perish everlastingly.'
Subject(s): World War I; First World War


I WALKED in loamy Wessex lanes, afar
From rail-track and from highway, and I heard
In field and farmstead many an ancient word
Of local lineage like 'Thu bist', 'Er war',

'Ich woll', 'Er sholl', and by-talk similar,
Nigh as they speak who in this month's moon gird
At England's very loins, thereunto spurred
By gangs whose glory threats and slaughters are.

Then seemed a Heart crying: 'Whosoever they be
At root and bottom of this, who flung this flame
Between kin folk kin tongued even as are we,

'Sinister, ugly, lurid, be their fame;
May their familiars grow to shun their name,
And their brood perish everlastingly.'





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