Speak low, speak little; who may sing
While yonder cannon-thunders boom?
Watch, shuddering, what each day may bring:
Nor 'pipe amid the crack of doom.'
And yet-the pines sing overhead,
The robins by the alder-pool,
The bees about the garden-bed,
The children dancing home from school.
And ever at the loom of Birth
The mighty Mother weaves and sings:
She weaves-fresh robes for mangled earth;
She sings-fresh hopes for desperate things.
And thou, too: if through Nature's calm
Some strain of music touch thine ears,
Accept and share that soothing balm,
And sing, though choked with pitying tears.
21st September 1870
Charles Kingsley
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Poem topics: birth, children, home, mother, music, nature, school, accept, earth, garden, bring, touch, share, watch, Valentine's Day, thine, fresh, speak, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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