THE broken soldier sings and whistles day to dark; He's but the remnant of a man, maimed and half-blind, But the soul they could not harm goes singing like the lark, Like the incarnate Joy that will not be confined. The Lady at the Hall has given him a light task, He works in the gardens as busy as a bee; One hand is but a stump and his face a pitted mask; The gay soul goes singing like a bird set free. Whistling and singing like a linnet on wings; The others stop to listen, leaning on the spade, Whole men and comely, they fret at little things. The soul of him's singing like a thrush in a glade. Hither and thither, hopping, like Robin on the grass, The soul in the broken man is beautiful and brave; And while he weeds the pansies and the bright hours pass, The bird caught in the cage whistles its joyous stave. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...OUT WHERE THE WEST BEGINS by ARTHUR CHAPMAN AULD ROBIN GRAY by ANNE LINDSAY ST. ISAAC'S CHURCH, PETROGRAD by CLAUDE MCKAY TWO RED ROSES ACROSS THE MOON by WILLIAM MORRIS (1834-1896) SKETCH OF AN OCCURRENCE ON BOARD A BRIG by JOHN GARDINER CALKINS BRAINARD AN ASSURANCE by NICHOLAS BRETON |