IF thou but pipe I will a pilgrim be Along the outskirt bushes of the wood: Fly forward, Whitethroat, searching still for me Some leafy shrine of utter quietude: There stay awhile and sing, Upon me fling The ditties of the woodland that I love; And mingling with thy song Sometimes may float along The soft ejaculation of the dove. For, Whitethroat, all the loved of Long Ago Have vanished sleepward far and far away, And in the churchyard yonder do but grow To finer dust—God rest them!—day by day. So stay awhile and sing, Upon me fling The ditties of the woodland that I love; And call to join the song From out this beechen throng The deep-toned consolation of the dove. The pomp of vast cathedrals cannot easc The grief within me that will not be still. Help, natural magic of the forest trees! Help, green enchantment of the sloping hill! And thou, my Whitethroat, sing, Upon me fling The ditties of the woodland that I love; And may there speed along In union with thy song The mellower reflection of the dove. The Priest has spoken, and I am not healed. The organ pleaded, and my heart was cold. Where is God's widest blessing? In the weald, Beside the sheepcotes and upon the wold. Wherefore, my Whitethroat, sing, Upon me fling The ditties of the woodland that I love; And call from out this throng Of trees to swell thy song The gentle exclamation of the dove. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...FIFTY FAGGOTS by PHILIP EDWARD THOMAS SONG OF SLAVES IN THE DESERT by JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER TO A FRIEND WHOSE WORK HAS COME TO NOTHING by WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS DICING by AGATHIAS SCHOLASTICUS IN ANSWER TO QUESTION FROM GREEK GRAMMAR: WHAT FUTURES SPEAK by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD AND THE DREAMERS OF DREAMS by JOHN OSCAR BECK APPLE-BLOSSOM by MATHILDE BLIND PORTBURY by THOMAS EDWARD BROWN GLIMPSES OF CHILDHOOD: 2. IN THE CHILDREN'S HOSPITAL by RICHARD EUGENE BURTON |