Treasure Island

Francis William Bourdillon

(22 March 1852 – 13 January 1921 / Runcorn, Cheshire)

The Piper

The dews were on the hedges,
The mist was on the mead,
When down among the sedges
I wrought my pipe of reed.
I blew my pipe with power.
Men only cursed the sound
That woke them when the hour
Brought back their labor’s round.

The scythe was in the barley,
The sickle in the wheat;
The pipe I made so early
Had lost its tones so sweet.
And weary man and maiden,
Upon the glowing soil,
My reed-pipe fell upbraiding
That lightened not their toil.

The men had left their mowing,
The maids to bind the sheaves;
I took me for my blowing
A wheatstraw stripped of leaves.
And cares all ceased to cumber,
No voice was now upraised;
I piped them all to slumber,
And in their dreams was praised.

Submitted: Thursday, April 08, 2010

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

What do you think this poem is about?

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 (The Piper by Francis William Bourdillon )

Enter the verification code :

There is no comment submitted by members.. Updates

Poem of the Day

poet Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

When the hours of Day are numbered,
And the voices of the Night
Wake the better soul, that slumbered,
To a holy, calm delight;

Ere the evening lamps are lighted,
...... Read complete »


Modern Poem


Trending Poems

  1. 04 Tongues Made Of Glass, Shaun Shane
  2. The Road Not Taken, Robert Frost
  3. Phenomenal Woman, Maya Angelou
  4. Still I Rise, Maya Angelou
  5. Daffodils, William Wordsworth
  6. If You Forget Me, Pablo Neruda
  7. Annabel Lee, Edgar Allan Poe
  8. Fire and Ice, Robert Frost
  9. I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings, Maya Angelou
  10. If, Rudyard Kipling

Trending Poets

[Hata Bildir]