Flower o' the thorn A book of wayside verse: By John Payne |
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PIGEONS. |
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 | Flower o' the thorn |  |
PIGEONS.
THE pigeons in the street
Go gleaning here a crumb and there a grain of wheat:
Among the stones and dust they fare,
Now stalking stately here and there,
Now tripping daintily,
With nodding heads and necks uplifted in the air,
Now for a yard or two
Wide-winging o'er the ways or hovering like a bee.
With plumage grey and blue
And rainbow-tinted breasts, that shimmer in the sun,
About the flocking roads they fly and fare and run
And lighten London's wintry moods
With memories of the meads and woods.
Go gleaning here a crumb and there a grain of wheat:
Among the stones and dust they fare,
Now stalking stately here and there,
Now tripping daintily,
With nodding heads and necks uplifted in the air,
Now for a yard or two
Wide-winging o'er the ways or hovering like a bee.
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And rainbow-tinted breasts, that shimmer in the sun,
About the flocking roads they fly and fare and run
And lighten London's wintry moods
With memories of the meads and woods.
Among the folk they pass
And seek their food between the feet of horse and ass.
Blithe birds, they have no fear of man;
Their beauty 'gainst the general ban
Assureth them of hate;
Their confidence disarms the dull unthinking clan,
That else too ready were
The harmless life in bird and beast to obliterate.
They know no sordid care;
Each day brings food enough to fill their modest need;
And so among mankind their guileless lives proceed,
Midmost our strife for sick increase,
A pastoral of faith and peace.
And seek their food between the feet of horse and ass.
Blithe birds, they have no fear of man;
Their beauty 'gainst the general ban
Assureth them of hate;
Their confidence disarms the dull unthinking clan,
That else too ready were
The harmless life in bird and beast to obliterate.
They know no sordid care;
Each day brings food enough to fill their modest need;
And so among mankind their guileless lives proceed,
Midmost our strife for sick increase,
A pastoral of faith and peace.
Well were it if we might,
Like them, contentful, take whatever day and night
Afford nor fret for things which pass
The common ken of man. Alas!
We know not how to live
Or die. True sons of Eve, until beneath the grass
We're laid, we know no rest
Nor can, contrite, accept that which Life has to give
And make thereof the best.
Would, pigeons, we from you might learn, without wanthought,
To live from day to day, nought hoping, dreading nought,
Nor seeking strife nor shunning scaith,
Disarming Doom with fearless faith!
Like them, contentful, take whatever day and night
Afford nor fret for things which pass
The common ken of man. Alas!
We know not how to live
Or die. True sons of Eve, until beneath the grass
We're laid, we know no rest
Nor can, contrite, accept that which Life has to give
And make thereof the best.
Would, pigeons, we from you might learn, without wanthought,
To live from day to day, nought hoping, dreading nought,
Nor seeking strife nor shunning scaith,
Disarming Doom with fearless faith!
| Flower o' the thorn | |