P.C. Home Page . Recent Additions
A B .
C D .
E F .
G H .
I J .
K L .
M N .
O P .
Q R .
S T .
U V .
W X .
- UNDER the long fell's stony eaves
- The ploughman, going up and down,
- Ridge after ridge man's tide-mark leaves,
- And turns the hard grey soil to brown.
- Striding, he measures out the earth
- In lines of life, to rain and sun;
- And every year that comes to birth
- Sees him still striding on and on.
- The seasons change, and then return;
- Yet still, in blind, unsparing ways,
- However I may shrink or yearn,
- The ploughman measures out my days.
- His acre brought forth roots last year;
- This year it bears the gleamy grain;
- Next spring shall seedling grass appear:
- Then roots and corn and grass again.
- Five times the young corn's pallid green
- I have seen spread and change and thrill;
- Five times the reapers I have seen
- Go creeping up the far-off hill.
- And, as the unknowing ploughman climbs
- Slowly and inveterately,
- I wonder long how many times
- The corn will spring again for me.
- Gordon Bottomly
- WHEN you destroy a blade of grass
- You poison England at her roots:
- Remember no man's foot can pass
- Where evermore no green life shoots.
- You force the birds to wing too high
- Where your unnatural vapours creep:
- Surely the living rocks shall die
- When birds no rightful distance keep.
- You have brought down the firmament
- And yet no heaven is more near;
- You shape huge deeds without event,
- And half-made men believe and fear.
- Your worship is your furnaces,
- Which, like old idols, lost obscenes,
- Have molten bowels; your vision is
- Machines for making more machines.
- O, you are busied in the night,
- Preparing destinies of rust;
- Iron misused must turn to blight
- And dwindle to a tetter'd crust.
- The grass, forerunner of life, has gone,
- But plants that spring in ruins and shards
- Attend until your dream is done:
- I have seen hemlock in your yards.
- The generations of the worm
- Know not your loads piled on their soil;
- Their knotted ganglions shall wax firm
- Till your strong flagstones heave and toil.
- When the old hollow'd earth is crack'd,
- And when, to grasp more power and feasts,
- Its ores are emptied, wasted, lack'd,
- The middens of your burning beasts
- Shall be raked over till they yield
- Last priceless slags for fashioning high,
- Ploughs to wake grass in every field,
- Chisels men's hands to magnify.
- Gordon Bottomley
Poets' Corner .
H O M E .