O pastoral heart of England! like a psalm <br />Of green days telling with a quiet beat- <br />O wave into the sunset flowing calm! <br />O tirèd lark descending on the wheat! <br />Lies it all peace beyond the western fold <br />Where now the lingering shepherd sees his star <br />Rise upon Malvern? Paints an Age of Gold <br />Yon cloud with prophecies of linkèd ease- <br />Lulling this Land, with hills drawn up like knees, <br />To drowse beside her implements of war? <br /> <br />Man shall outlast his battles. They have swept <br />Avon from Naseby Field to Savern Ham; <br />And Evesham's dedicated stones have stepp'd <br />Down to the dust with Montfort's oriflamme. <br />Nor the red tear nor the reflected tower <br />Abides; but yet these elegant grooves remain, <br />Worn in the sandstone parapet hour by hour <br />By labouring bargemen where they shifted ropes; <br />E'en so shall men turn back from violent hopes <br />To Adam's cheer, and toil with spade again. <br /> <br />Ay, and his mother Nature, to whose lap <br />Like a repentant child at length he hies, <br />Nor in the whirlwind or the thunder-clap <br />Proclaims her more tremendous mysteries: <br />But when in winter's grave, bereft of light, <br />With still, small voice divinelier whispering <br />-Lifting the green head of the aconite, <br />Feeding with sap of hope the hazel-shoot- <br />She feels God's finger active at the root, <br />Turns in her sleep, and murmurs of the Spring.<br /><br />Sir Arthur Quiller-Couch<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/upon-eckington-bridge-river-avon/
