Freedom - Poem by John Kenyon
Tis not because fierce swords are flashing there,
With license and a reckless scorn of life,
When for some petty gaud upstarts a strife,
That Freedom there must harbour. Slavery's air
Breeds many a liveried satrap, prompt to dare,
And soldier-serfs are ready there and rife
To march at summons of the jerking fife.
But where swords—some—are turned to ploughshares;
Others, not rusted, o'er the household hearth,
In peaceful pomp, near cradled babe are hung;
And sires rest reverenced in holy earth,
And marriage-bells with holy cheer are rung,
There Freedom dwells, Constraint's sublime reward.
And Peace must rear her, e'en if War must guard.
Comments about Freedom by John Kenyon
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
- Still I RiseMaya Angelou
- The Road Not TakenRobert Frost
- If You Forget MePablo Neruda
- DreamsLangston Hughes
- Annabel LeeEdgar Allan Poe
- Stopping By Woods On A Snowy EveningRobert Frost
- IfRudyard Kipling
- I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love YouPablo Neruda
- Do Not Stand At My Grave And WeepMary Elizabeth Frye
- TelevisionRoald Dahl