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John Masefield - The Everlasting Mercy
Work rating: Medium

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Your friendly clubs to help `em bury. 
Your charities of midwifery. 
Your bidding children duck and cap 
To them who give them workhouse pap. 
O, what you are, and what you preach, 
And what you do, and what you teach 
Is not God`s Word, nor honest schism, 
But Devil`s scant and pauperism."

By this time many folk had gathered 
To listen to me while I blathered; 
I said my piece, and when I`d said it, 
I`ll do the purple parson credit, 
He sunk (as sometimes parsons can) 
His coat`s excuses in the man. 
"You`d think the Squire and I are kings 
Who made the existing state of things, 
And made it ill. I answer, No, 
States are not made, nor patched; they grow, 
Grow slow through centuries of pain 
And grow correctly in the main, 
But only grow by certain laws 
Of certain bits in certain jaws. 
You want to doctor that. Let be. 
You cannot patch a growing tree. 
Put these two words beneath your hat, 
These two: securus judicat. 
The social states of human kinds 
Are made by multitudes of minds, 
And after multitudes of years 
A little human growth appears 
Worth having, even to the soul 
Who sees most plain it`s not the whole. 

This state is dull and evil, both, 
I keep it in the path of growth; 
You think the Church an outworn fetter; 
Kane, keep it, till you`ve built a better. 
And keep the existing social state; 
I quite agree it`s out of date, 
One does too much, another shirks, 
Unjust, I grant; but still. . . it works. 
To get the whole world out of bed 
And washed, and dressed, and warmed, and fed, 
To work, and back to bed again, 
Believe me, Saul, costs worlds of pain. 
Then, as to whether true or sham 
That book of Christ, Whose priest I am; 
The Bible is a lie, say you, 
where do you stand, suppose it true? 
Goodbye. But if you`ve more to say 
My doors are open night and day. 
Meanwhile, my friend, `twould be no sin 
To mix more water in your gin. 
We`re neither saints nor Philip Sidneys, 
But mortal men with mortal kidneys."
 


He took his snuff, and wheezed a greeting, 
And waddled off to mother`s meeting; 
I hung my head upon my chest, 
I give old purple parson best. 
For while the Plough tips round the Pole 
The trained mind outs the upright soul, 
As Jesus said the trained mind might, 
Being wiser than the sons of light, 
But trained men`s minds are spread so thin 
They let all sorts of darkness in; 
Whatever light man finds they doubt it 
They love, not light, but talk about it.

But parson`d proved to people`s eyes 
That I was drunk, and he was wise; 
And people grinned and women tittered, 
And little children mocked and twittered. 
So, blazing mad, I stalked to bar 
To show how noble drunkards are, 
And guzzled spirits like a beast, 
To show contempt for Church and priest, 
Until, by six, my wits went round 
Like hungry pigs in parish pound. 
At half past six, rememb`ring Jane, 
I staggered into street again 
With mind made up (or primed for gin) 
To bash the coop who`d run me in; 
For well I knew I`d have to cock up 
My legs that night inside the lock-up, 
And it was my most fixed intent 
To have a fight before I went. 
Our Fates are strange, and no one now his; 
Our lovely Saviour Christ disposes.

Jane wasn`t where we`d planned, the jade. 
She`d thought me drunk and hadn`t stayed. 
So I went up the Walk to look for her 
And lingered by the little brook for her, 
And dowsed my face, and drank at spring, 
And watched two wild ducks on the wing, 
The moon come pale, the wind come cool, 
A big pike leapt in Lower Pool, 
The Peacock screamed, the clouds were straking, 
My cut cheek felt the weather breaking; 
An orange sunset waned and thinned 
Foretelling rain and western wind, 
And while I watched I heard distinct 
The metals on the railway clinked. 
The blood-edged clouds were all in tatters, 
The sky and earth seemed mad as hatters; 
they had a death look, wild and odd, 
Of something dark foretold by God. 
And seeing it so, I felt so shaken 
I wouldn`t keep the road I`d taken, 
But wandered back towards the inn 
Resolved to brace myself with gin. 
And as I walked, I said, "It`s strange, 
There`s Death let loose to-night, and Change." 

In Cabbage Walk, I made a haul 
Of two big pears from lawyer`s wall, 
And, munching one, I took the lane 
Back into Market-place again. 
Lamp-lighter Dick had passed the turning. 
And all the Homend lamps were burning, 
The windows shone, the shops were busy, 
But that strange Heaven made me dizzy. 
The sky had all God`s warning writ 
In bloody marks all over it, 
And over all I thought there was 
A ghastly light besides the gas. 
The Devil`s tasks and Devil`s rages 
Were giving me the Devil`s wages.

In Market-place it`s always light, 
The big shop windows make it bright; 
And in the press of people buying 
I spied a little fellow crying 
Because his mother`d gone inside 
And left him there, and so he cried. 
And mother`d beat him when she found him, 
And mother`s whip would curl right round him, 
And mother`d say h`ed done to crost her, 
Though there being crowds about he`d lost her.

Lord, give to men who are old and rougher 
The things that little children suffer, 
And let keep bright and undefiled 
The young years of the little child. 
I pat his head at edge of street 
And gi`m my second pear to eat. 
Right under lamp I pat his head, 
"I`ll stay till mother come," I said, 
And stay I did, and joked and talked, 
And shoppers wondered as they walked, 
"There`s that Saul Kane, the drunken blaggard, 
Talking to little Jimmy Jaggard. 
The drunken blaggard reeks of drink." 
"Whatever will his mother think?" 
"Wherever has his mother gone? 
Nip round to Mrs. Jaggard`s, John, 
And say her Jimmy`s out again, 
In Market-place with boozer Kane." 
"When he come out to-day he staggered. 
O, Jimmy Jaggard, Jimmy Jaggard." 
"His mother`s gone inside to bargain, 
Run in and tell her , Polly Margin, 
And tell her poacher Kane is tipsy 
And selling Jimmy to a gipsy." 
"Run in to Mrs. Jaggard, Ellen, 
Or else, dear knows, there`ll be no tellin`, 
And don`t dare leave yer till you`ve fount her, 
You`ll find her at the linen counter." 
I told a tale, to Jim`s delight 
Of where the tom-cats go by night, 
And how when moonlight came they went 
Among the chimneys black and bent, 
From roof to roof, from house to house, 
With little baskets full of mouse 
All red and white, both joint and chnop 
Like meat out of a butcher`s shop; 
Then all along the wall they creep 
And everyone is fast asleep, 
And honey-hunting moths go by, 
And by the bread-batch crickets cry; 
Then on they hurry, never waiting 
To lawyer`s backyard cellar grating 
where Jaggard`s cat, with clever paw,` 
Unhooks a broke-brick`s secret door; 
Then down into the cellar black, 
Across the wood slug`s slimy track, 
Into an old cask`s quiet hollow, 
Where they`ve got seats for what`s to follow; 
Then each tom-cats light little candles, 
And O, the stories and the scandals, 
And O, the songs and Christmas carols, 
And O, the milk from little barrels. 
They light a fire fit for roasting 
(And how good mouse-meat smells when toasting), 
Then down they sit to merry feast 
While moon goes west and sun comes east.

Sometimes they make so merry there 
Old lawyer comes to head of stair 
To `fend with fist and poker took firm 
His parchments channeled by the bookworm, 
And all his deeds, and all his packs 
Of withered ink and sealing wax; 
And there he stands, with candle raised, 
And listens like a man amazed, 
Or like ghost a man stands dumb at, 
He says, "Hush! Hush! I`m sure there`s summat." 
He hears outside the brown owl call, 
He hears the death-tick tap the wall, 
the gnawing of the wainscot mouse, 
The creaking ujp and down the house, 
The unhooked window`s hinges ranging, 
The sounds that say the wind is changing. 
At last he turns and shakes his head, 
"It`s nothing. I`ll go back to bed."

And just then Mrs. Jaggard came 
To view and end her Jimmy`s shame. 

She made on rush and gi`m a bat 
And shook him like a dog a rat. 
"I can`t turn round but what you`re straying. 
I`ll give you tales and gipsy playing. 
I`ll give you wand`ring off like this 
And listening to whatever `tis, 
You`ll laugh the little side of the can, 
You`ll have the whip for his, my man; 
And not a bite of meat nor bread 
You`ll touch before you go to bed. 
Some day you`ll break your mother`s heart, 
After God knows she done her part, 
Working her arms off day and night 
Trying to keep your collars white. 
Look at your face, too, in the street. 
What dirty filth`ve you found to eat? 
Now don`t you blubber here, boy, or 
I`ll give you sum`t to blubber for." 
She snatched him off from where we stand 
And knocked the pear-core from his hand, 
and looked at me, "You Devil`s limb, 
How dare you talk to Jaggard`s Jim; 
You drunken, poaching, boozing brute, you, 
If Jaggard was a man, he`d shoot you." 
She glared all this, but didn`t speak, 
she gasped, white hollows in her cheek; 
Jimmy was writhing, screaming wild, 
The shoppers thought I`d killed the child.

I had to speak, so I begun. 
"You oughtn`t beat your little son; 
He did no harm, but seeing him there 
I talked to him and gi`m a pear; 
I`m sure the poor child meant no wrong, 
It`s all my fault he stayed so long, 
He`d not have stayed, mum, I`ll be bound 
If I`d not chanced to come around. 
It`s all my fault he stayed, not his. 
I kept him here, that`s how it is." 
"Oh!" And how dare you, then?" says she, 
How dare yo tempt my boy from me? 
How dare you do`t, you drunken swine, 
Is he your child or is he mine? 
A drunken sot they`ve had the beak to, 
Has got his dirty whores to speak to, 
His dirty mates with home he drink, 
Not little children, one would think. 
"Look on him, there," she says, "Look on him 
And smell the stinking gin upon him, 
The lowest sot, the drunknest liar, 
The dirtiest dog in all the shire: 
Nice friends for any woman`s son 
After ten years, and all she`s done.

"For I`ve had eight, and buried five, 
And only three are left alive. 
I`ve given them all we could afford. 
I`ve taught them all to fear the Lord. 
They`ve had the best we had to give, 
The only three the Lord let live.

"For Minnie whom I love the worst 
Died mad in childbirth with her first. 
And John and Mary died of measles, 
And Rob was drowned at the Teasels. 
And little Nan, dear little sweet, 
A cart run over in the street; 
Her little shift was all one stain, 
I prayed God put her out of pain. 
And all the rest are gone or going 
The road to hell, and there`s no knowing 
For all I`ve done and all I`ve made them 
I`d better not have overlaid them. 
For Susan went the ways of shame 
The time the `till`ry regiment came, 
And t`have her child without a father 
I think I`d have her buried father. 
And Dicky boozes, God forgimme, 
And now`t`s to be the same with Jimmy. 
And all I`ve done and all I`ve bore 
Has made a drunkard and a whore,, 
A bastard boy who wasn`t meant, 
And Jimmy gwine where Dicky went; 
For Dick began the self-same way 
And my old hairs are going gray, 
And my poor man`s a withered knee, 
And all the burden falls on me. 
"I`ve washed eight little children`s limbs, 
I`ve taught eight little souls their hymns, 
I`ve risen sick and lain down pinched 
And borne it all and never flinched; 
But to see him, the town`s disgrace, 
With God`s commandments broke in`s face, 
Who never worked, not he, nor earned, 
Nor will do till the seas are burned, 
Who never did since he was whole 
A hand`s turn for a human soul, 
But poached and stole and gone with women, 
And swilled down gin enough to swim in, 
To see him only lift a finger 
To make my little Jimmy linger. 
In spite of all his mother`s prayers, 
And all her ten long years of cares, 
and all her broken spirit`s cry 
That drunkard`s finger puts them by, 
And Jimmy turns. And now I see 
That just as Dick was, Jim will be, 
And all my life will have been in vain. 
I might have spared myself the pain, 
And done the world a blessed riddance 
If I`d a drowned `em all like kittens. 
And he the sot, so strong and proud, 
Who`d make white shirts of a mother`s shroud, 
He laughs now, it`s a joke to him, 
Though it`s the gates of hell for Jim.

"I`ve had my heart burnt out like coal, 
And drops of blood wrung from my soul 
Day in, day out, in pain and tears, 
For five and twenty wretched years; 
And he, he`s ate the fat and sweet, 
And loafed and spat at top of street, 
And drunk and leched from day till morrow, 
And never known a moment`s sorrow. 
He come out drunk from th`inn to look 
the day my little Nan was took; 
He sat there drinking, glad and gay, 
The night my girl was led astray; 
He praised my Dick for singing well, 
The night Dick took the road to hell; 
And when my corpse goes stiff and blind, 
Leaving four helpless souls behind, 
He will be there still, drunk and strong. 
It do seem hard. It do seem wring. 
But "Woe to him by whom the offense," 
Says our Lord Jesus` Testaments. 
Whatever seems, God doth not slumber 
Though he lets pass times without number. 
He`ll come with trump to call his own, 
And t his world`s way`ll be overthrown. 
He`ll come with glory and with fire 
To cast great darkness on the liar, 
To burn the drunkard and the treacher, 
And do his judgment on the lecher, 
To glorify the spirit`s faces 
Of those whose ways were stony places 
Who chose with Ruth the better part; 
O Lord, i see Thee as Thou are, 
O God, the fiery, four-edged sword, 
The thunder of the wrath outpoured, 
The fiery four-faced creatures burning, 
And all the four-faced wheels all turning, 
Coming with trump and fiery saint. 
Jim, take me home, I`m turning faint." 
They went, and some cried, "Good old sod." 
"She put it to him straight, by God."

Summat, whe was, or looked, or said, 
Went home and made me hang my head. 
I slunk away into the night 
Knowing deep down that she was right. 
I`d often hear[d] religious ranters, 
And put them down as windy canters, 
But this old mother made me see 
the harm I done by being me. 
Being both strong and given to sin 
I `stracted weaker vessels in. 
So back to bar to get more drink, 
I didn`t dare begin to think, 
And there were drinks and drunken singing, 
As though this life were dice for flinging; 
Dice to be flung, and nothing furder, 
And Christ`s blood just another murder. 
"Come on, drinks round, salue, drink hearty, 
Now, Jane, the punch-bowl for the party. 
If any here won`t drink with me 
I`ll knock his bloody eyes out. See? 
Come on, cigars round, rum for mine, 
Sing us a smutty song, some swine." 
But though the drinks and songs went round 
That thought remained, it was not drowned. 
And when I`d rise to get a light 
I`d think, "What`s come to me tonight?"

There`s always crowds when drinks are standing. 
The house doors slammed along the landing, 
The rising wind was gusty yet, 
And those who cam in late were wet; 
And all my body`s nerves were snappin` 
With sense of summat `bout to happen, 
And music seemed to come and go 
And seven lights danced in a row. 
There used be a custom then, 
Miss Bourne, the Friend, went round at ten 
To all the pubs in all the place, 
To bring the drunkards` souls to grace; 
Some sulked, of course, and some were stirred, 
But none give her a dirty word. 
A tall pale woman, grey and bent, 
Folk said of her that she was sent 
She wore Friend`s clothes, and women smiled, 
But she`d a heart just like a child. 
She come to us near closing time 
when we were at some smutty rhyme, 
And I was mad, and ripe for fun; 
I wouldn`t a minded what I done. 
So when she come so prim and grey 
I pound the bar and sing, "Hooray, 
Here`s Quaker come to bless and kiss us, 
Come, have a gin and bitters, missus, 
Or may be Quaker girls so prim 
Would rather start a bloody hymn. 
Now Dick, oblige. A hymn, you swine, 
Pipe up the `Officer of the Line,` 
A song to make one`s belly ache, 
Or `Nell and Roger at the Wake,` 
Or that sweet song, the talk in town, 
`The lady fair and Abel Brown.` 
`O, who`s that knocking at the door,` 
Miss Bourne`ll play the music score." 
The men stood dumb as cattle are, 
They grinned, but thought I`d gone too far, 
There come a hush and no one break it, 
They wondered how Miss Bourne would take it. 
She up to me with black eyes wide, 
She looked as though her spirit cried; 
She took my tumbler from the bar 
Beside where all the matches are 
And poured it out upon the floor dust, 
Among the fag-ends, spit and saw-dust.

"Saul Kane," she said, "when next you drink, 
Do me the gentleness to think 
That every drop of drink accursed 
Makes Christ within you die of thirst, 
That every dirty word you say 
Is one more flint upon his way, 
Another thorn about His head, 
Another mock by where He tread, 
Another nail, another cross. 
All that you are is that Christ`s loss." 
The clock run down and struck a chime 
And Mrs. Si said, "Closing time."

The wet was pelting on the pane 
And something broke inside my brain, 
I heard the rain drip from the gutters 
And Silas putting up the shutters, 
While one by one the drinkers went; 
I got a glimpse of what it meant, 
How she and I had stood before 
In some old town by some old door 
Waiting intent while someone knocked 
Before the door for ever locked; 
She was so white that I was scared, 
A gas jet, turned the wrong way, flared, 
And Silas snapped the bars in place. 
Miss Bourne stood white and searched my face. 
When Silas done, with ends of tunes 
He `gan a gathering the spittoons, 
His wife primmed lips and took the till. 
Miss Bourne stood still and I stood still. 
Miss Bourne stood still and I stood still, 
And "Tick. Slow. Tick. Slow" went the clock. 
She said, "He waits until you knock." 
She turned at that and went out swift, 
Si grinned and winked, his missus sniffed.

I heard her clang the Lion door, 
I marked a drink-drop roll to floor; 
It took up scraps of sawdust, furry, 
And crinkled on, a half inch, blurry; 
A drop from my last glass of gin; 
And someone waiting to come in, 
A hand upon the door latch gropen 
Knocking the man inside to open. 
I know the very words I said, 
They bayed like bloodhounds in my head. 
"The water`s going out to sea 
And there`s a great moon calling me; 
But there`s a great sun calls the moon, 
And all God`s bells will carol soon 
For joy and glory and delight 
Of someone coming home to-night." 
Out into darkness, out to night, 
My flaring heart gave plenty light, 
So wild it was there was no knowing 
Whether the clouds or stars were blowing; 
Blown chimney pots and folk blown blind, 
And puddles glimmering in my mind, 
And chinking glass from windows banging, 
And inn signs swung like people hanging, 
And in my heart the drink unpriced, 
The burning cataracts of Christ.

I did not think, I did not strive, 
The deep peace burnt my me alive; 
The bolted door had broken in, 
I knew that I had done with sin. 
I knew that Christ had given me birth 
To brother all the souls on earth, 
And every bird and every beast 
Should share the crumbs broke at the feast.
 


O glory of the lighted mind. 
How dead I`d been, how dumb, how blind. 
The station brook, to my new eyes, 
Was babbling out of Paradise, 
The waters rushing from the rain 
Were singing Christ has risen again. 
I thought all earthly creatures knelt 
From rapture of the joy I felt. 
The narrow station-wall`s brick ledge, 
The wild hop withering in the hedge, 
The lights in huntsmans` upper storey 
Were parts of an eternal glory, 
Were God`s eternal garden flowers. 
I stood in bliss at this for hours.

O glory of the lighted soul. 
The dawn came up on Bradlow Knoll, 
The dawn with glittering on the grasses, 
The dawn which pass and never passes.

"It`s dawn," I said, "And chimney`s smoking, 
And all the blessed fields are soaking.` 
It`s dawn, and there`s an engine shunting; 
And hounds, for huntsman`s going hunting. 
It`s dawn, and I must wander north 
Along the road Christ led me forth."

So up the road I wander slow 
Past where the snowdrops used to grow 
With celandines in early springs, 
When rainbows were triumphant things 
And dew so bright and flowers so glad, 
Eternal joy to lass and lad. 
And past the lovely brook I paced, 
The brook whose source I never traced, 
The brook, the one of two which rise 
In my green dream in Paradise, 
In wells where heavenly buckets clink 
To give God`s wandering thirsty drink 
By those clean cots of carven stone 
Where the clear water sings alone. 
Then down, past that white-blossomed pond, 
And past the chestnut trees beyond, 
And past the bridge the fishers knew, 
Where yellow flag flowers once grew, 
Where we`d go gathering cops of clover, 
In sunny June times long since over. 
O clover-cops half white, half red, 
O beauty from beyond the dead. 
O blossom, key to earth and heaven, 
O souls that Christ has new forgiven. 
Then down the hill to gipsies` pitch 
By where the brook clucks in the ditch. 
A gipsy`s camp was in the copse, 
Three felted tents, with beehive tops, 
And round black marks where fires had been, 
And one old waggon painted green, 
And three ribbed horses wrenching grass, 
And three wild boys to watch me pass, 
And one old woman by the fire 
Hulking a rabbit warm from wire. 
I loved to see the horses bait, 
I felt I walked at Heaven`s gate, 
That Heaven`s gate was opened wide 
Yet still the gipsies camped outside. 
The waste souls will prefer the wild, 
Long after life is meek and mild. 
Perhaps when man has entered in` 
His perfect city free from sin, 
The campers will come past the walls 
With old lame horses full of galls, 
And waggons hung about with withies, 
And burning coke in tinker`s stithies, 
And see the golden town, and choose, 
And think the wild to good to lose. 
And camp outside, as these camped then 
With wonder at the entering men. 
So past, and past the stone heap white 
That dewberry trailers hid from sight, 
And down the field so full of springs, 
Where mewing peewits clap their wings, 
And past the trap made for the mill 
Into the field below the hill. 
There was a mist along the stream, 
A wet mist, dim, like in a dream; 
I heard the heavy breath of cows 
And waterdrops from th`alder boughs; 
And eels, or snakes, in dripping grass, 
Whipping aside to let me pass. 
The gate was backed against the ryme 
To pass the cows at milking time. 
And by the gate as I went out 
A moldwarp rooted earth wi`s snout. 
A few steps up the Callow`s Lane 
Brought me above the mist again, 
The two great fields arose like death 
Above the mists of human breath.

All earthly things that blessèd morning 
Were everlasting joy and warning, 
The gate was Jesus`way made plain, 
the mole was Satan foiled again, 
black blinded Satan snouting way 
Along the red of Adam`s clay; 
The mist was error and damnatiion, 
The lane the road unto salvation. 
Out of the mist into the light, 
O blessèd gift of inner sight. 
The past was faded like a dream; 
There come the jingling of a team, 
A ploughman`s voice, a clink of chain, 
Slow hoofs, and harness under strain. 
Up the slow slope a team came bowing, 
Old Callow at his autumn ploughing, 
Old Callow, stooped above the hales, 
Ploughing the stubble into wales. 
His grave eyes looking straight ahead, 
Shearing a long straight furrow red; 
His plough-foot high to give it earth 
To bring new food for men to birth. 
O wet red swathe of earth laid bare, 
O truth, O strength, O gleaming share, 
O patient eyes that watch the goal, 
O ploughman of the sinner`s soul. 
O Jesus, drive the coulter deep 
To plough my living man from sleep.

Slow up the hill the plough team plod, 
Old Callow at the task of God, 
Helped by man`s wit, helped by the brute, 
Turning a stubborn clay to fruit, 
His eyes forever on some sign 
To help him plough a perfect line. 
At top of rise the plough team stopped, 
The fore-horse bent his head and cropped. 
Then the chains chack, the brasses jingle, 
The lean reins gather through the cringle, 
The figures move against the sky, 
The clay wave breaks as they go by. 
I kneeled there in the muddy fallow, 
I knew that Christ was there with Callow, 
That Christ was standing there with me, 
That Christ had taught me what to be, 
That I should plough, and as I ploughed 
My Saviour Christ would sing aloud, 
And as I drove the clods apart 
Christ would be ploughing in my heart, 
Through rest-harrow and bitter roots, 
Through all my bad life`s rotten fruits.

O Christ who holds the open gate, 
O Christ who drives the furrow straight, 
O Christ, the plough, O Christ, the laughter 
Of holy white birds flying after, 
Lo, all my heart`s field red and torn, 
And Thou wilt bring the young green corn, 
The young green corn divinely springing, 
The young green corn forever singing; 
And when the field is fresh and fair 
Thy blessèd feet shall glitter there, 
And we will walk the weeded field, 
And tell the holden harvests`s yield, 
The corn that makes the holy bread 
By which the soul of man is fed, 
The holy bread, the food unpriced, 
Thy everlasting mercy, Christ.

The share will jar on many a stone, 
Thou wilt not let me stand alone; 
And I shall feel (thou wilt not fail), 
Thy hand on mine upon the hale. 
Near Bullen Bank, on Gloucester Road, 
Thy everlasting mercy showed 
The ploughman patient on the hill 
Forever there, forever still, 
Ploughing the hill with steady yoke 
Of pine-trees lightning-struck and broke. 
I`ve marked the May Hill ploughman stay 
There on his hill, day after day 
Driving his team against the sky, 
While men and women live and die. 
And now and then he seems to stoop 
To clear the coulter with the scoop, 
Or touch an ox to haw or gee 
While Severn stream goes out to sea. 
The sea with all her ships and sails, 
And that great smoky port in Wales, 
And Gloucester tower bright i` the sun, 
All know that patient wandering one. 
And sometimes when they burn the leaves 
The bonfires` smoking trails and heaves, 
And girt red flamës twink and twire 
As though he ploughed the hill afire. 
And in men`s hearts in many lands 
A spiritual ploughman stands 
Forever waiting, waiting now, 
The heart`s "Put in, man, zook the plough."

By this the sun was all one glitter, 
The little birds were all atwitter; 
Out of a tuft a little lark 
Went higher up than I could mark, 
His little throat was all one thirst 
To sing until his heart should burst 
To sing aloft in golden light 
His song from blue air out of sight. 
The mist drove by, and now the cows 
Came plodding up to milking house. 
Followed by Frank, the Callow`s cowman, 
Who whistled, "Adam was a ploughman." 
There came such cawing from the rooks, 
Such running chuck from little brooks, 
One thought it March, just budding green, 
With hedgerows full of celandine. 
An otter` out of stream and played, 
Two hares come loping up and stayed; 
Wide-eyed and tender-eared but bold. 
Sheep bleated up from Penny`s fold. 
I heard a partridge covey call, 
The morning sun was bright on all. 
Down the long slope the plough team drove 
The tossing rooks arose and hove. 
A stone struck on the share. A word 
Came to the team. The red earth stirred.

I crossed the hedge by shooter`s gap, 
I hitched my boxer`s belt a strap, 
I jumped the ditch and crossed the fallow: 
I took the hales from framer Callow.

How swift the summer goes, 
Forget-me-not, pink, rose. 
The young grass when I started 
And now the hay is carted, 
And now my song is ended, 
And all the summer splended; 
The blackbirds` second brood 
Routs beech leaves in the wood; 
The pink and rose have speeded, 
Forget-me-not has seeded. 
Only the winds that blew, 
The rain that makes things new, 
The earth that hides things old, 
And blessings manifold.

    O lovely lily clean, 
    O lily springing green, 
    O lily bursting white, 
    Dear lily of delight, 
    Spring my heart agen 
    That I may flower to men.
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