Читать книгу Oxford Poetry 1917-1921 - Various Authors - Страница 13
ОглавлениеOTMOOR
The armies take the field in May,
And trees go marching all the day
On Otmoor, where the winds are strong
And mornings are a season long;
Where shining clouds halt for a pace,
Idling behind out of the race.
On Otmoor, hedges never die
Once spring has flung her tapestry;
And there most kindly summer throws
The lightest snowflakes of the rose,
And buttercups grow tall and straight
In fields that keep an open gate,
And daisies make a frosty gleam;
And yet you may not sleep nor dream,
Though field and road and wood are blessed,
Touched by the peaceful hands of rest.
On Otmoor, you may hear the voice
Of living green things that rejoice—
Hedges that boast defended fields,
And green seclusions proud of shields;
Great open deserts in the sky,
Cool icebergs slowly riding by
In the unruffled sea of blue;
Branches that let the sun pass through,
The cuckoo and the ecstatic lark,
Shadows that play at being dark—
In every leaf and stem and flower
There throbs a kindly, silent power,
And energies of being pass
From every breeze that stirs the grass,
And close around, with friendly care,
I feel the encircling sky and air,
That keep me safe, that hold without
Each shuddering fear, each traitorous doubt.
So am I safe and fenced around;
Boundless themselves, they set my bound,
For, should I make the ring less wide,
My fears start up on every side;
And only in unmeasured space
Can lives meet Life with braver face.
Here I may watch the silent earth
Consuming what shall come to birth;
For every leaf that falls and dies
Unbounded woodlands shall arise,
And though the roadside stream be dead,
New springs leap at the mountain head.
