 | The Poems of A. C. Benson |  |
137
THE CARRIER PIGEON
O'er leagues of clustered houses, where
The long town flies its streamers black,
Aloft upon the smoky air,
Thou didst divine the homeward track;
Then out o'er park and sandy heath
Thy chartered pinions bore thee well,
The indifferent world was spread beneath;
How could we tell?
The long town flies its streamers black,
Aloft upon the smoky air,
Thou didst divine the homeward track;
Then out o'er park and sandy heath
Thy chartered pinions bore thee well,
The indifferent world was spread beneath;
How could we tell?
Why didst thou stay thy wandering
That day within my fatal pine?
The leaden hail that rent thy wing,
The fault, if fault there were, was mine.
Thou didst pursue thy cherished trust,
With shattered plume and filmy eye,
Again I flung thee in the dust,
Only to die.
That day within my fatal pine?
The leaden hail that rent thy wing,
The fault, if fault there were, was mine.
Thou didst pursue thy cherished trust,
With shattered plume and filmy eye,
Again I flung thee in the dust,
Only to die.
Indeed, indeed, I deemed thee one
Of that astute rapacious crew,
That pluck the blade before the sun
Is gracious, ere it drink the dew.
Beneath the beech thy fellows toil,
Grey specks upon the trampled floor
Of rusty gold, to gorge and spoil
The squirrel's store.
Of that astute rapacious crew,
That pluck the blade before the sun
Is gracious, ere it drink the dew.
138
Grey specks upon the trampled floor
Of rusty gold, to gorge and spoil
The squirrel's store.
How couldst thou guess thy confidence
Would such unkindly welcome find?
The folk that trained thy trustful sense,
God help me, were a gentler kind.
Thou didst not crave for alien air,
No restless impulse bade thee roam,
Thy sweetest hope, thy fondest care
To hasten home.
Would such unkindly welcome find?
The folk that trained thy trustful sense,
God help me, were a gentler kind.
Thou didst not crave for alien air,
No restless impulse bade thee roam,
Thy sweetest hope, thy fondest care
To hasten home.
The words that tied by gentle hands
Beneath thy ready pinion lay,
I, sorrowing, loosed their careful bands;
They passed a less ethereal way.
Lest wanton time should violate
Thy pious bones, thy tender frame,
I bade the holt commemorate
Thy nameless name.
Beneath thy ready pinion lay,
I, sorrowing, loosed their careful bands;
They passed a less ethereal way.
Lest wanton time should violate
Thy pious bones, thy tender frame,
I bade the holt commemorate
Thy nameless name.
Then ere I hid the piteous feet,—
Poor rosy feet!—I rent away
The ring that told thy customed beat,
The scant duration of thy day.
Sleep well beneath the hanger's side,
So shalt thou be, through my regret,
As never duteous dove that died,
Remembered yet.
Poor rosy feet!—I rent away
The ring that told thy customed beat,
The scant duration of thy day.
Sleep well beneath the hanger's side,
So shalt thou be, through my regret,
As never duteous dove that died,
Remembered yet.
| The Poems of A. C. Benson | |