Sing, ye trenches bloody-lipped! Sing! For into you has slipped @3Lycidas, dead ere his prime.@1 All ye cruel trenches, sing! Under frost and under rime All his body beautiful, All his body wonderful, Low hath lain. Now, cunningly, April, with sweet mystery, Molds the trenches horror-lipped Into chalices of spring. @3Who would not sing for Lycidas?@1 See, across the hideous gashes Soft green fire of April flashes, Starred with windflowers delicate; Gemmed with purple violet; Roseate with crimson glow Where again his pulses blow In young clover. For his sake See the budding crocus break Into flame; and hear the grass, Green-tongued, sing for Lycidas! Sing, ye gaping wounds of earth! Tomb-like, ye have taken him, Cradled him, distilled him; Womb-like, ye have brought to birth Myriad flowers and fragrances. Requiemed with spring he lies. God, who took unto His heart All his throbbing, vital part, Sowed his body in the earth. Let the trumpets of the grass Paean shout for Lycidas! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...OUT WHERE THE WEST BEGINS by ARTHUR CHAPMAN THE FORCE OF LOVE by WILLIAM HENRY DAVIES THE DESERTED PLANTATION by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR IDYLLS OF THE KING: PELLEAS AND ETTARRE by ALFRED TENNYSON SONG OF THE FATHERLAND by ERNST MORITZ ARNDT IN VINCULIS; SONNETS WRITTEN IN AN IRISH PRISON: THE COURT OF PENANCE by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT |