21st September 1870
Speak low, speak little; who may sing
While yonder cannon-thunders boom?
Watch, shuddering, what each day may bring:
Nor 'pipe amid the crack of doom.'
And yet-the pines sing overhead,
The robins by the alder-pool,
The bees about the garden-bed,
The children dancing home from school.
And ever at the loom of Birth
The mighty Mother weaves and sings:
She weaves-fresh robes for mangled earth;
She sings-fresh hopes for desperate things.
And thou, too: if through Nature's calm
Some strain of music touch thine ears,
Accept and share that soothing balm,
And sing, though choked with pitying tears.
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Comments about this poem (21st September 1870 by Charles Kingsley )
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Still I Rise
Edgar Allan Poe
I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
William Ernest Henley
- I Don't Want A Machine To Read This Poem, Shalom Freedman
- Letter, Nikola Vaptsarov
- Eulogy, Michael McParland
- The Wife's Song, Nikola Vaptsarov
- Eternal Silence, Michael McParland
- Eternal Life, Michael McParland
- The Comrade's Song, Nikola Vaptsarov
- A Dream, Nikola Vaptsarov
- Spain, Nikola Vaptsarov
- ONE MORE ANNIVERSARY, Satish Verma