What if we all lay dead below ; Lay as the grass lies, cold and dead In God's own holy shroud of snow, With snow-white stones at foot and head, With all earth dead and shrouded white As clouds that cross the moon at night ? What if that infidel some night Could then rise up and see how dead, How wholly dead and out of sight All things with snows sown foot and head And lost winds wailing up and down The emptied fields and emptied town ? I think that grand old infidel Would rub his hands with fiendish glee, And say, " I knew it, knew it well ! I knew that death was destiny ; I ate, I drank, I mocked at God, Then as the grass was, and the sod." Ah me, the grasses and the sod, They are my preachers . Hear them preach When they forget the shroud, and God Lifts up these blades of grass to teach The resurrection ! Who shall say What infidel can speak as they? | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...UTOPIA by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON PASSION'S HOUNDS by WILLIAM HENRY DAVIES THE ASSAULT HEROIC by ROBERT RANKE GRAVES WINTER WITH THE GULF STREAM by GERARD MANLEY HOPKINS AN ENGLISH MOTHER by ROBERT UNDERWOOD JOHNSON |