UNDER the young moon's slender shield
With the wind's cool lips on mine,
I went home from the Rabitty Field
As the clocks were striking nine.
The yews were dark in the level light,
The thorn-trees dropped with gold,
And a partridge called where the dew was white
In the grass on the edge of the fold.
O, had your hand been in my hand
As the long chalk-road I trod,
The green hills of the lovely land
Had seemed the hills of God.
Going Home
Marjorie Lowry Christie Pickthall
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Poem topics: dark, god, green, home, light, moon, wind, edge, grass, white, shield, field, young, long, level, gold, cool, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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