21st September 1870
Speak low, speak little; who may sing
While yonder cannon-thunders boom?
Watch, shuddering, what each day may bring:
Nor 'pipe amid the crack of doom.'
And yet-the pines sing overhead,
The robins by the alder-pool,
The bees about the garden-bed,
The children dancing home from school.
And ever at the loom of Birth
The mighty Mother weaves and sings:
She weaves-fresh robes for mangled earth;
She sings-fresh hopes for desperate things.
And thou, too: if through Nature's calm
Some strain of music touch thine ears,
Accept and share that soothing balm,
And sing, though choked with pitying tears.
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Comments about this poem (21st September 1870 by Charles Kingsley )
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Still I Rise
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I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
William Ernest Henley
- Forsaken, Clara Keiper
- LONELY EBOLA, Egbe Chris
- ABROAD في الخارج, MOHAMMAD SKATI
- People Confusion Is, Is It Poetry
- Titbit Of Tit, Saanumi ikujuni
- which button makes me disappear?, Mandolyn ...
- hold me with both hands, Mandolyn ...
- we were made for love..., Marshall Gass
- The piano tutor......, Marshall Gass
- The fog......., Marshall Gass