Treasure Island

Blanche Edith Baughan

(16 January 1870 - 20 August 1958 / Putney / Surrey)

On the Just and the Unjust


OUTCAST, a horror to his kind,
At night he to the forest fled.
There, the birch-bark made fire for him,
The brown fern made a bed.

The river murmured lullaby,
The moisty mosses breathed of balm,
The clean stars carried light to him,
Unterrified and calm.

Aye, as they would have served a saint
Freely all served the guilty guest.
They only saw their Father’s son,
And brought their brother rest.

Submitted: Thursday, January 01, 2004

Do you like this poem?
0 person liked.
0 person did not like.

Read poems about / on: brother, river, son, father, fire, light, night, star

Read this poem in other languages

This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.

I would like to translate this poem »

word flags

What do you think this poem is about?

Comments about this poem (On the Just and the Unjust by Blanche Edith Baughan )

Enter the verification code :

There is no comment submitted by members..

Top Poems

  1. Phenomenal Woman
    Maya Angelou
  2. The Road Not Taken
    Robert Frost
  3. If You Forget Me
    Pablo Neruda
  4. Still I Rise
    Maya Angelou
  5. Dreams
    Langston Hughes
  6. Annabel Lee
    Edgar Allan Poe
  7. If
    Rudyard Kipling
  8. Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
    Robert Frost
  9. I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings
    Maya Angelou
  10. Invictus
    William Ernest Henley

PoemHunter.com Updates

New Poems

  1. happy b'day to india's most fascinating .., Nikhil Parekh
  2. تعالي لنرسم معاً قوس قزح, سميح القاسم
  3. Norman Doesn't Go to Ferguson, Missouri, Donal Mahoney
  4. طائر الرعد, سميح القاسم
  5. تقدموا, سميح القاسم
  6. Fearless, Omar Eldamsheety
  7. Unintentional Existence: Repository Citr.., Onyekachukwu Vincent Onyeche
  8. Friendzone (Rap song), Clint Kingham
  9. The Marché Aux Puces And The Jardin Des .., William Daryl Hine
  10. The Lake, William Daryl Hine

Poem of the Day

poet Henry David Thoreau

My books I'd fain cast off, I cannot read,
'Twixt every page my thoughts go stray at large
Down in the meadow, where is richer feed,
And will not mind to hit their proper targe.
...... Read complete »

   
[Hata Bildir]