Never, they say, were guns so loud, Never were flames so bright, As those that made at Fresnoy Inferno of the night; And when the searchlight fires lit The slender, new-green trees, They could be seen to tremble As never in a breeze. At Fresnoy, in the little wood Just greening with the spring, A nightingale, undaunted, Lifted his voice to sing; And in each moment's silence When torn earth held her breath, Before the fearful guns again Uttered their Song of Death,— The nightingale, oblivious Of all the ghastly strife, Was heard within the little wood To sing the Song of Life! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...CARGO MOVING TO GAZA (1988) by MARVIN BELL ON THE SALE OF MY FARM by ROBERT FROST SURFACES AND MASKS; 7 by CLARENCE MAJOR THE LONESOME CHILD by KATHERINE MANSFIELD A CERTAIN POET ON THE DEBATES by EDGAR LEE MASTERS |