With sanguine looks
And rolling walk
Among the rooks
He loved to stalk,
While on the land
With gusty laugh
From a full hand
He scattered chaff.
Now that within
His spirit sleeps
A harvest thin
The sickle reaps;
But the dumb fields
Desire his tread,
And no earth yields
A wheat more red.
(Sir Henry Newbolt)
More Poetry from Sir Henry Newbolt:
- Fidele's Grassy Tomb (Sir Henry Newbolt Poems)
- Admirals All (Sir Henry Newbolt Poems)
- Craven (Sir Henry Newbolt Poems)
- A Song Of Exmoor (Sir Henry Newbolt Poems)
- Commemoration (Sir Henry Newbolt Poems)
- Admiral Death (Sir Henry Newbolt Poems)