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.' | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...AUTUMN MOVEMENT by CARL SANDBURG VIGNETTES OVERSEAS: 6. RUINS OF PAESTUM by SARA TEASDALE ANSWER TO A CHILD'S QUESTION by SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE MY LOST YOUTH by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW INDIAN SUMMER (2) by JOHN BANISTER TABB TO THE MOONFLOWER by CRAVEN LANGSTROTH BETTS |