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English Hills Post by :jojojo Category :Poems Author :John Freeman Date :September 2011 Read :2245

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English Hills

O that I were
Where breaks the pure cold light
On English hills,
And peewits rising cry,
And gray is all the sky.

Or at evening there
When the faint slow light stays,
And far below
Sleeps the last lingering sound,
And night leans all round.

O then, O there
'Tis English haunted ground.
The diligent stars
Creep out, watch, and smile;
The wise moon lingers awhile.

For surely there
Heroic shapes are moving,
Visible thoughts,
Passions, things divine,
Clear beneath clear star-shine.

O that I were
Again on English hills,
Seeing between
Laborious villages
Her cool dark loveliness.

(The end)
John Freeman's poem: English Hills

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Homecoming Homecoming

When I came home from wanderings In a tall chattering ship,I thought a hundred happy things,Of people, places, and such things As I came sailing home.The tall ship moved how slowly on With me and hundreds more,That thought not then of wanderings,But of unwhispered, longed-for things, Familiar things of home.For not in miles seemed other lands Far off, but in long yearsAs we came near to England then;Even the tall ship heard secret things As she moved trembling home.It was at dawn. The chattering ship Was strangely hushed; faint mistCrept everywhere, and we crept

Presage Of Victory Presage Of Victory

Presage Of Victory
IThen first I knew, seeing that bent grey head,How England honours all her thousand dead.Then first I knew how faith through black grief burns,Until the ruined heart glows while it yearnsFor one that never more returns--Glows in the spent embers of its prideFor one that careless lived and fearless died.And then I knew, then first,How everywhere Hope from her prison had burst--On every hill, wide dale, soft valley's lap,In lonely cottage clutch'd between huge downs,And streets confused with streets in clanging towns--Like spring from winter's jail pouring her sapInto the idle wood of last year's trees.Then first I knew how the