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Happy Is England Now Post by :dp1795 Category :Poems Author :John Freeman Date :September 2011 Read :3388

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Happy Is England Now

There is not anything more wonderful
Than a great people moving towards the deep
Of an unguessed and unfeared future; nor
Is aught so dear of all held dear before
As the new passion stirring in their veins
When the destroying Dragon wakes from sleep.

Happy is England now, as never yet!
And though the sorrows of the slow days fret
Her faithfullest children, grief itself is proud.
Ev'n the warm beauty of this spring and summer
That turns to bitterness turns then to gladness
Since for this England the beloved ones died.

Happy is England in the brave that die
For wrongs not hers and wrongs so sternly hers;
Happy in those that give, give, and endure
The pain that never the new years may cure;
Happy in all her dark woods, green fields, towns,
Her hills and rivers and her chafing sea.

Whate'er was dear before is dearer now.
There's not a bird singing upon his bough
But sings the sweeter in our English ears:
There's not a nobleness of heart, hand, brain
But shines the purer; happiest is England now
In those that fight, and watch with pride and tears.

(The end)
John Freeman's poem: Happy Is England Now

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The Stars In Their Courses The Stars In Their Courses

The Stars In Their Courses
And now, while the dark vast earth shakes and rocksIn this wild dream-like snare of mortal shocks,How look (I muse) those cold and solitary starsOn these magnificent, cruel wars?--Venus, that brushes with her shining lips(Surely!) the wakeful edge of the world and mocksWith hers its all ungentle wantonness?--Or the large moon (pricked by the spars of shipsCreeping and creeping in their restlessness),The moon pouring strange light on things more strange,Looks she unheedfully on seas and landsTrembling with change and fear of counterchange?O, not earth trembles, but the stars, the stars!The sky is shaken and the cool air is quivering.I cannot look

Velvets Velvets

By a Bed of Pansies This pansy has a thinking face Like the yellow moon. This one has a face with white blots: I call him the clown. Here goes one down the grass With a pretty look of plumpness; She is a little girl going to school With her hands in the pockets of her pinafore. Her name is Sue.