HE woke; the clank and racket of the train Kept time with angry throbbings in his brain. Then for a while he lapsed and drowsed again. At last he lifted his bewildered eyes And blinked, and rolled them sidelong; hills and skies, Heavily wooded, hot with August haze, And, slipping backward, golden for his gaze, Acres of harvest. Feebly now he drags Exhausted ego back from glooms and quags And blasting tumult, terror, hurtling glare, To calm and brightness, havens of sweet air. He sighed, confused; then drew a cautious breath; This level journeying was no ride through death. 'If I were dead,' he mused, 'there'd be no thinking -- Only some plunging underworld of sinking, And hueless, shifting welter where I'd drown.' Then he remembered that his name was Brown. But was he back in Blighty? Slow he turned, Till in his heart thanksgiving leapt and burned. There shone the blue serene, the prosperous land, Trees, cows and hedges; skipping these, he scanned Large, friendly names, that change not with the year, Lung Tonic, Mustard, Liver Pills and Beer. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE WINE OF NIGHT by LOUIS UNTERMEYER THE CRICKET by FREDERICK GODDARD TUCKERMAN LATIMER AND RIDLEY, BURNED AT THE STAKE IN OXFORD, 1555 by WILLIAM EDMONSTOUNE AYTOUN SHRODON FEAR: THE VU'ST PEART by WILLIAM BARNES SEEKING WATERS by DORIS R. BECK THE COMPLAINT OF FANCY by MATILDA BARBARA BETHAM-EDWARDS |