 | Russia Re-Born |  |
22
April, 1917.
Cried the song-bird to the sea-bird, as he neared with weary wing
The far-sought cliffs of England: ‘O Brother, is it Spring?
Are the flowers 'neath the hedges? Are the leaves out in the lane,
Where I may nurse my nestlings and sing my songs again?’
But the sea-bird cried in answer: ‘There is nought but frost and snow.
No leaf in lane or woodland, no flower yet to show.’
The far-sought cliffs of England: ‘O Brother, is it Spring?
Are the flowers 'neath the hedges? Are the leaves out in the lane,
Where I may nurse my nestlings and sing my songs again?’
But the sea-bird cried in answer: ‘There is nought but frost and snow.
No leaf in lane or woodland, no flower yet to show.’
Cried the sea-bird to the song-bird: ‘O Brother, is it peace?
Do death and desolation, do waste and warfare cease?
Is the plough yet in the furrow? Is the sower flinging seed,
Where black and white wings mingle, as rook and sea-gull feed?’
But the song-bird cried in answer: ‘There is nought but blood and woe.
A thousand leagues of land and sea—one tale had all to show.’
Do death and desolation, do waste and warfare cease?
23
Where black and white wings mingle, as rook and sea-gull feed?’
But the song-bird cried in answer: ‘There is nought but blood and woe.
A thousand leagues of land and sea—one tale had all to show.’
| Russia Re-Born | |