@3The scarlet-jewelled ashtree sighed - 'He cometh, For whom no wine is poured and no bee hummeth.'@1 The huddled ban-sheaves under the moon, Like black tents, will be vanished soon. So fast the days draw in and are over, So early the bees are gone from the clover -- Today, tomorrow -- And nights are dark, and as cold as sorrow. He's gone, her man, so good with his hands In the harvest field and the lambing shed. Straight ran his share in the deep ploughlands -- And now he marches among the dead. @3The ash let fall her gems, and moaned -- 'He cometh, And no bee hummeth.'@1 'O children, come in from your soldier-play In the black bean tents! The night is falling; Owls with their shuddering cry are calling; A dog howls, lonely, far ay.' His son comes in like a ghost through the door. He'll be ready, maybe, for the next big war. O world, come in from the leasowes grey And cold, where swaths of men are lying, And horror to shuddering horror crying! Come home To the wisdom of those that till the loam, And give man time for his working-day! @3Then the white-blossomed ash will sing: -- 'He cometh, For whom then loving-cup is poured, the wild bee hummeth.'@1 | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...WRITTEN IN NORTHAMPTON COUNTY ASYLUM by JOHN CLARE FORGETFULNESS by HAROLD HART CRANE CHARLESTON by PAUL HAMILTON HAYNE MUSIC IN THE NIGHT by HARRIET PRESCOTT SPOFFORD INCIDENT CHARACTERISTIC OF A FAVOURITE DOG by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH WRITTEN ON THE LEAVES OF A FAN by FRANCIS ATTERBURY LILIES: 5. ETERNAL MURMURINGS by GEORGE BARLOW (1847-1913) |