LAD, and can you rest now, There beneath your hill! Your hands are on your breast now But is your heart so still? 'Twas the right death to die, lad, A gift without regret, But unless truth's a lie, lad, You dream of Devon yet. Ay, ay, the year's awaking, The fire's among the ling, The beechen hedge is breaking, The curlew's on the wing; Primroses are out, lad, On the high banks of Lee, And the sun stirs the trout, lad, From Brendon to the sea. I know what's in your heart, lad, -- The mare he used to hunt -- And her blue market-cart, lad, With posies tied in front -- We miss them from the moor road, They're getting old to roam, The road they're on's a sure road And nearer, lad, to home. Your name, the name they cherish? 'Twill fade, lad, 'tis true: But stone and all may perish With little loss to you. While fame's fame you're Devon, lad, The Glory of the West; Till the roll's called in heaven, lad, You may well take your rest. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE FARM CHILD'S LULLABY by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR IMPRESSION by EDMUND WILLIAM GOSSE FRAGMENTS OF A LOST GNOSTIC POEM OF THE 12TH CENTURY by HERMAN MELVILLE ON CRITICS; IN IMITATION OF ANACREON by MATTHEW PRIOR IN ENVY OF COWS by JOSEPH AUSLANDER |