Forefathers, The Men From Whom My Ways Began, To My Father, Grandfather, Forefathers All.

Tuesday, 13 April 2010

Forefathers

Here they went with smock and crook,

Toiled in the sun, lolled in the shade,

Here they mudded out the brook,

And here their hatchet cleared the glade:

Harvest-supper woke their wit,

Huntsman's moon their wooings lit.

From this church they led their brides,

From this church themselves were led

Shoulder-high; on these waysides

Sat to take their beer and bread.

Names are gone--what men they were

These their cottages declare.

Names are vanished, save the few

In the old brown Bible scrawled;

These were men of pith and thew,

Whom the city never called;

Scarce could read or hold a quill,

Built the barn; the forge, the mill.

On the green they watched their sons

Playing till too dark to see,

As their fathers watched them once,

As my father once watched me;

While bat and beetle flew

On the warm air webbed with dew.

Unrecorded, unrenowned,

Men from whom my ways begin,

Here I know you by your ground,

But I know you not within--

All is mist, and there survives

Not a moment of your lives.

Like the bee that now is blown

Honey-heavy on my hand,

From the toppling tansy-throne

In the green tempestuous land,--

I'm in clover now, nor know

Who made honey long ago.