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...THE CAMBODIAN BOX by KAREN SWENSON ON KEATS, WHO DESIRED THAT ON HIS TOMB SHOULD BE INSCRIBED: by PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY THE SPIRIT AND THE CUP by A. E. ANDERSON THE VIELD PATH by WILLIAM BARNES THE FLOWER GIRL (REIGN OF QUEEN ANNE) by WILLIAM ROSE BENET |