WHY groaning so, thou solid Earth!
Tho’ sprightly summer cheers?
Or is thine old heart dead to mirth?
Or art thou bowed by years?
Nor am I cold to summer’s prime,-
Nor knows my heart decay;
Nor am I bowed by countless time,
Thou atom of a day!
I loved to list, when tree and tide
Their gentle music made;
And, lightly, on my sunny side,
To feel the plough and spade.
I loved to hold my liquid way
Thro’ floods of living light;
To kiss the sun’s bright hand by day,
And count the stars by night.
I loved to hear the children’s glee
Around the cottage-door;
And peasant’s song right merrily
The glebe come ringing o’er.
But man upon my back has lain
Such heavy loads of stone,
I cannot grow the golden grain:
‘Tis therefore that I groan.
And where the evening dew sank mild
Upon my quiet breast,
I feel the tear of the houseless child
Break burning on my rest.
Oh! where are all the hallowed sweets,
The harmless joys I gave?
The pavements of your sordid street,
Are stones o’er virtue’s grave!
And thick and fast as autumn-leaves
My children drop away:
A gathering of unripened sheaves
By Premature Decay.
Gaunt misery holds the cottage-door;
Black sin supports the throne;
And slaves are slavish more and more:-
‘Tis therefore that I groan.
(Ernest Jones)
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Based on Topics: Night Poems, Light Poems, Time Poems, Children PoemsBased on Keywords: glebe, premature, cottage-door, unripened, autumn-leaves