The Poets And Poetry of the Nineteenth Century volume 8

Cover The Poets And Poetry of the Nineteenth Century volume 8
The Poets And Poetry of the Nineteenth Century volume 8
Alfred H Alfred Henry Miles
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" Be pitiful, O God!
The tempest stretches from the steep The shadow of its coming. The beasts grow tame and near us creep, As help were in the human ; Yet, while the cloud-wheels roll and grind.
We spirits tremble under — The hills have echoes, but we find No answer for the thunder.
Be pitiful, O God The battle hurtles on the plains.
Earth feels new scythes upon her ; We reap our brothers for the wains.
And call the harvest — honour: Draw face to face, front line to line, Our image all inherit
..., — Then kill, curse on, by that same sign, Clay — day, and spirit — spirit.
Be pitiful, O God ! The plague runs festering through the town.
And never a bell is tolling, And corpses, jostled 'neath the moon, Nod to tlie dead-cart's rolling : 7 194 ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING.
The young child calleth for the cup, The strong man brings it weeping, The mother from her babe looics up, And shrieks away its sleeping.
Be pitiful, O God !
The plague of gold strikes far and near, And deep and strong it enters ; This purple chimar which we wear, Makes madder than the centaur's : Our thoughts grow blank, our words grow strange, We cheer the pale gold-diggers, Each soul is worth so much on 'Change, And marked, like sheep, with figures.


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