Now all our English woodland sighs “October.”
The mild sun going down behind the trees
Doth bless a countryside as sweet and sober
As ever put on brown and red to please;
The brooks run blood, but ’tis such blood as Heav’n,
Pierc?d with light, lets fall on field and village;
England’s dear breasts are still unbruised, unriv’n
The autumn peace on pastureland and tillage.
Dear mother of us all, hast thou not heard?
Thou knowest how thy sons, our brothers, died
Of late, and hast thou not a sorrowful word?
O no! Thou dost contain thyself in pride.
Pity suits not for those, who guarding thee
Guard more than their own lives, for those at sea.
(Geoffrey Faber)
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Geoffrey Faber Poems based on Topics: Brothers, Autumn, Nature, Pride, Light, Sons, EnglandReaders Who Like This Poem Also Like:
Based on Topics: Light Poems, Nature Poems, Sons Poems, Pride Poems, Brothers Poems, Autumn Poems, England PoemsBased on Keywords: tillage, unbruisèd, pastureland