I walked in loamy Wessex lanes, afar
From rail-track and from highway, and I heard
In field and farmstead many an ancient word
Of local lineage like “Thu bist,” “Er war,”
“Ich woll,” “Er sholl,” and by-talk similar,
Nigh as they speak who in this month’s moon gird
At England’s very loins, thereunto spurred
By gangs whose glory threats and slaughters are.
Then seemed a Heart crying: “Whosoever they be
At root and bottom of this, who flung this flame
Between kin folk kin tongued even as are we,
Sinister, ugly, lurid, be their fame;
May their familiars grow to shun their name,
And their brood perish everlastingly.”
(Thomas Hardy)
More Poetry from Thomas Hardy:
Thomas Hardy Poems based on Topics: Cry, War & Peace, Name, Fame, England- I have lived with shades (Thomas Hardy Poems)
- A King's Soliloquy [On the Night of His Funeral] (Thomas Hardy Poems)
- I said to love (Thomas Hardy Poems)
- A Dream Or No (Thomas Hardy Poems)
- A Jog-Trot Pair (Thomas Hardy Poems)
- Between us now (Thomas Hardy Poems)
Readers Who Like This Poem Also Like:
Based on Topics: War & Peace Poems, Name Poems, Cry Poems, Fame Poems, England PoemsBased on Keywords: threats, sinister, lanes, similar, loins, spurred, gird, lurid, everlastingly, ich, whosoever