@3Raving war, begot In the thirsty sands Of the Libyan Isles, Wastes our empty fields; What the greedy rage Of fell wintry storms Could not turn to spoil, Fierce Bellona now Hath laid desolate, Void of fruit, or hope. Th' eager thrifty hind, Whose rude toil revived Our sky-blasted earth, Himself is but earth, Left a scorn to fate Through seditious arms: And that soil, alive Which he duly nurst, Which him duly fed, Dead his body feeds: Yet not all the glebe His tough hands manured Now one turf affords His poor funeral. Thus still needy lives, Thus still needy dies Th' unknown multitude.@1 | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A SONG FROM THE COPTIC by JOHANN WOLFGANG VON GOETHE TO LIZBIE BROWNE by THOMAS HARDY ELEGY BEFORE DEATH by EDNA ST. VINCENT MILLAY MONNA INNOMINATA, A SONNET OF SONNETS: 9 by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI THE LOVER TO THE THAMES OF LONDON TO FAVOUR HIS LADY ... by GEORGE TURBERVILLE THE DEATH OF HAMPDEN by PAKENHAM THOMAS BEATTY |