Here the Sun bore down upon the quiet fields
And vast tidal wave of green flowing hills.
Below Billowing Clouds like sluggish Sheep
To where the Butterfly and Bee flutter.
Their business being to guild the bright eye,
To give pleasure to Summer's swift tenure,
As if to say: This out toil , long passed down';
Didn't Dryden or Dunne smile on such deeds'?
To the soft warm breeze that blows heady scent
Like the aroma of your Sweethearts hair,
From yonder Heathy Hill or Cowslip'ed dale,
Near the lulled Song of the Milkmaids drifting
Towards Farm-hands that do flirt with good cheer;
Yelling their calls that tell of dancing soon
To fiddled Music and Barrels of Ale.
Near Village Greens with Leather on Willow,
To loud Triumphant Calls by falling Bails.
A steady old game - A Patient Old game.
Hear - once heard by Souls that are so much dust,
A thousand grey Stone Churches Ring -Out their song
For the joining of Hands or near the font-
As the Union of Hearts spawns future Man,
To saunter in Time's Worn weary footsteps,
And bear the days weight from cradle to Grave.
See - all is well as of Centuries Past,
The grinding Wheels of life turn Slumbering;
Turn with the contentment of it's placed sound.
Then - a distant loud Shot killed an Archduke.
-
Author:
Kevin Hulme (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: February 18th, 2026 20:02
- Comment from author about the poem: Thinking how England or any Country must have been before the outbreak of W.W.1
- Category: Reflection
- Views: 9
Offline)
Comments3
This poem bears the feel of another era and how time has changed things. Well written
Thank you.
You are most welcome Kevin
A pastoral lament. Enjoyed the rich imagery...however....
However? Thank you for Reading.
History will tell ya it weren't all like that....
You cradle the pastoral world in your hands, letting it breathe, hum, and dance—until history crashes in, sharp and absurd.
There’s a quiet grief in your lines, a knowing that even beauty can’t escape the jolt of fate.
So true. Thank you for your Comments.
To be able to comment and rate this poem, you must be registered. Register here or if you are already registered, login here.