Poem by Robert Seymour Bridges

Shorter Poems. Book IV. 12. “The Hill Pines Were Sighing”

The hill pines were sighing,
O'ercast and chill was the day:
A mist in the valley lying
Blotted the pleasant May.

But deep in the glen's bosom
Summer slept in the fire
Of the odorous gorse-blossom
And the hot scent of the brier.

A ribald cuckoo clamoured,
And out of the copse the stroke
Of the iron axe that hammered
The iron heart of the oak.

Anon a sound appalling,
As a hundred years of pride
Crashed, in the silence falling;
And the shadowy pine-trees sighed.

1. Shorter Poems. Book II. 4. Wooing
2. Shorter Poems. Book I. 17. Triolet (All women born are so perverse)
3. Shorter Poems. Book II. 8. Spring. Ode I
4. Shorter Poems. Book IV. 25. “Say Who Is This with Silvered Hair”
5. Shorter Poems. Book IV. 6. April, 1885

Print

1513 Views

Last Poems

To Russian version