White moon rising and red sun setting White as a searchlight, red as a flame, Through the dawn wind her hard way making, Rhythmless, riddled, the bomber came. Men who had thought their last flight over, All hoping gone, came limping back, Marvelling, looked on bomb-scarred Dover, Buttercup fields and white Down track. Cottage and ploughland, green lanes weaving, Working-folk stopping to stare overhead— Lovely, most lovely, past all believing To eyes of men new-raised from the dead. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...HE HAD HIS DREAM by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR TOMMY [ATKINS] by RUDYARD KIPLING ON THE NEW FORCES OF CONSCIENCE UNDER THE LONG PARLIAMENT by JOHN MILTON MY BED IS A BOAT by ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON A LEAVE-TAKING by ALGERNON CHARLES SWINBURNE TIPPERARY: 4. BY OUR OWN A. E. HOUSMAN by FRANKLIN PIERCE ADAMS |