The Tidings Poem by Lola Ridge
The Tidings
(Easter 1916)
Censored lies that mimic truth…
Censored truth as pale as fear…
My heart is like a rousing bell -
And but the dead to hear…
My heart is like a mother bird,
Circling ever higher,
And the nest-tree rimmed about
By a forest fire…
My heart is like a lover foiled
By a broken stair -
They are fighting to-night in Sackville Street,
And I am not there!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
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4/23/2024 10:18:18 AM # 1.0.0.1119
