OVER the English trees and the English meadows <br />Twilight is falling clear, <br />But my heart walks far in the homeless winds and the shadows <br />For those who are not here. <br /> <br />Youth and pleasure and peace and the strong flesh clothing <br />The freeman's soul, they gave; <br />Beauty they gave for a scar and honour for loathing <br />And life for a living grave. <br /> <br />But not of the least they gave was the English, mellow <br />Sunlight on beech leaves spread, <br />And the Squirrel flickering earthward to find his fellow <br />Where the chestnut husks lie dead. <br /> <br />And not of the least they lost was the calm star climbing <br />Over the elm tree's height, <br />And the heron high in the mists, and the hoar frost riming <br />The ivy leaves at night. <br /> <br />Night and the early moon, and the dead leaves burning, <br />And England secure and free <br />By the price of uncounted heartbreaks toward her turning <br />Across her kindred sea. <br /> <br />Night, and the smell of the earth, and the blue reek lifting <br />Straight as a prayer from the plain. <br />Loose them, O Sleep, to the sun and the beech leaves drifting <br />And the stubble fields again! <br /> <br />Night, and the robins still, and the long smoke folding, <br />The fallow on either hand, <br />And the spirits of those who sorrow afar, beholding <br />In dreams their native land.<br /><br />Marjorie Lowry Christie Pickthall<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/for-all-prisoners-and-captives/
