My Lyrical Life Poems Old and New. By Gerald Massey |
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ALL OVER. |
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 | My Lyrical Life |  |
ALL OVER.
Fades the New Aurora
That so glorious shone afar;
We but saw its fair face smiling
In the ruddy waves of war.
The Peace-fool to his pillow
Now may sneak, and sleep:
But a glory gone for ever,
We must weep; let us weep.
That so glorious shone afar;
We but saw its fair face smiling
In the ruddy waves of war.
The Peace-fool to his pillow
Now may sneak, and sleep:
But a glory gone for ever,
We must weep; let us weep.
Sleep the buried thunders;
Their reverberations cease:
And the grim old War-God
Must smile—a painted Peace.
Wild eyes are mad-house windows
Of Souls that plead in vain!
Over their old dark sorrow
Greeneth the soft spring-rain.
Their reverberations cease:
And the grim old War-God
Must smile—a painted Peace.
Wild eyes are mad-house windows
Of Souls that plead in vain!
Over their old dark sorrow
Greeneth the soft spring-rain.
Had we struck for Freedom
One immortal battle-blow,
Like the men who rose for England,
Two hundred years ago,—
The dead Nations lying
Where they fought and fell of old,
Would have risen from their prison
With their buried flags unrolled.
One immortal battle-blow,
Like the men who rose for England,
Two hundred years ago,—
The dead Nations lying
Where they fought and fell of old,
372
With their buried flags unrolled.
Cowards in the Council!
Heroes in the field!
Is our short sad story
By the blood of Martyrs sealed.
On those lone Crimean ridges
In the night our dead arise;
Hear the Norland winds come wailing
With their curses, and their cries!
Heroes in the field!
Is our short sad story
By the blood of Martyrs sealed.
On those lone Crimean ridges
In the night our dead arise;
Hear the Norland winds come wailing
With their curses, and their cries!
Sublime in all her suffering;
In the fight so brave!
Poor old England's victories
Bow her to the grave.
And is the world to see her
Low and lonely lie
Chained to her rock, while Tyrants mock,
As they go riding by?
In the fight so brave!
Poor old England's victories
Bow her to the grave.
And is the world to see her
Low and lonely lie
Chained to her rock, while Tyrants mock,
As they go riding by?
| My Lyrical Life | |