I TO-DAY I saw a ploughman go About the margin of the hill Where wearily since long ago Those other ploughmen slumber still— Who rose to make a craven King And left their bodies in the dust When renegade and underling Had maimed their faith and marred their trust— And doomed with devilry and lie The valour of their simple word, Making their fledgling mutiny A banquet for a brawler's sword. II Slow, lowly hearts to white-heat blown! How could this shabby legion tell Of fields no husbandmen had sown— More fallow than the fields of hell? Trapped, helpless, laughed to bitter scorn They kept a troth that cannot die, Of these yon forest oaks are born— And their enduring litany Springs from the grass, from bladed wheat, From all green things that lift their head In springtide faith: yea—when we eat We keep their sacrament with bread. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...AFTER TWO YEARS by RICHARD ALDINGTON CONTRA MORTEM: THE WHEEL OF BEING I by HAYDEN CARRUTH THE IMPORTANCE OF GREEN by JAMES GALVIN DAWN by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON ILLUSIONS by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON TO SAMUEL COLERIDGE UPON HEARING HIS 'SOME I FEEL LIKE A MOTHERLESS..' by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON |