Thump of a horse's hoof behind the hedge; <br />Long stripes of shadow, and green flame in the grass <br />Between them; discrowned, glaucous poppy--pods <br />On their tall stalks; a rose <br />With its great thorns blood--red in the slant light; <br />Round apples swelling on the apple--boughs:-- <br />Over these, over the rich quiet, comes <br />Out of no--where a 'plane in the high blue <br />Driving its angry furrow across the sky, <br />Outstrips the slow clouds, throbs, an urgent roar, <br />Right overhead, and fiercely vanishes. <br />The quiet has become strange. Like from pools <br />A noiseless water issuing, memories, <br />Surmises, apprehensions, traceless thoughts, <br />Glide with brief visions on the mind, drifting <br />From shadow into shadow; and then a pang <br />Sudden as when a meteor scars the night: <br />See where Christ's blood streams in the firmament! <br />Dead faces of the young, that see nothing... <br />The unknown wounds, everywhere, everywhere... <br />And then from the inner to the outer sense <br />Returns the sun--warm quiet on the grass, <br />The poppy charged with sleep, the red, red thorns, <br />The stamping of the horse behind the hedge, <br />The strong slow patience of the living earth <br />And the apple ripening on the apple--tree <br />Almost as if I felt it in my flesh.<br /><br />Robert Laurence Binyon<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/august-afternoon/
