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Charles Kingsley (Чарльз Кингсли)


The Poetry of a Root Crop


Underneath their eider-robe
Russet swede and golden globe,
Feathered carrot, burrowing deep,
Steadfast wait in charmed sleep;
Treasure-houses wherein lie,
Locked by angels' alchemy,
Milk and hair, and blood, and bone,
Children of the barren stone;
Children of the flaming Air,
With his blue eye keen and bare,
Spirit-peopled smiling down
On frozen field and toiling town—
Toiling town that will not heed
God His voice for rage and greed;
Frozen fields that surpliced lie,
Gazing patient at the sky;
Like some marble carven nun,
With folded hands when work is done,
Who mute upon her tomb doth pray,
Till the resurrection day.

Eversley, 1845

Charles Kingsley's other poems:
  1. Down to the Mothers
  2. The Weird Lady
  3. The Dead Church
  4. A Hope
  5. Ode on the Istallation of the Duke of Devonshire


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