UNDERNEATH their eider-robe Russet swede and golden globe, Feathered carrot, burrowing deep, Steadfast wait in charmed sleep; Treasure-houses wherein lie, Locked by angels' alchemy, Milk and hair, and blood, and bone, Children of the barren stone; Children of the flaming Air, With his blue eye keen and bare, Spirit-peopled smiling down On frozen field and toiling town -- Toiling town that will not heed God His voice for rage and greed; Frozen fields that surpliced lie, Gazing patient at the sky; Like some marble carven nun, With folded hands when work is done, Who mute upon her tomb doth pray, Till the resurrection day. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE POET SPEAKS by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON LET IT BE YOU by SARA TEASDALE ODE TO SIMPLICITY by WILLIAM COLLINS (1721-1759) IN MEMORIAM A.H.H.: 67 by ALFRED TENNYSON THE GALLOWS by PHILIP EDWARD THOMAS |