In those cold days and nights how many birds, Flittering above the fields and streams all frozen, Watched hungrily the tended flocks and herds-- Earth's chosen nourished by earth's wise self-chosen! How many birds suddenly stiffened and died With no plaint cried, The starved heart ceasing when the pale sun ceased! And when the new day stepped from the same cold East The dead birds lay in the light on the snow-flecked field, Their song and beautiful free winging stilled. I walked under snow-sprinkled hills at night, And starry sprinkled skies deep blue and bright. The keen wind thrust with his knife against the thin Breast of the wood as I went tingling by, And heard a weak cheep-cheep,--no more--the cry Of a bird that crouched the smitten wood within ... But no one heeded that sharp spiritual cry Of the two children in their misery, When in the cold and famished night death's shade More terrible the moon's cold shadows made. How was it none could hear That bodiless crying, birdlike, sharp and clear? I cannot think what they, unanswered, thought When the night came again and shadows moved As the moon through the ice-flower stared and roved, And that unyielding Shadow came again. That Shadow came again unseen and caught The children as they sat listening in vain, Their starved hearts failing ere the Shadow removed. And when the new morn stepped from the same cold East They lay unawakening in the barren light, Their song and their imaginations bright, Their pains and fears and all bewilderment ceased.... While the brief sun gave New beauty to the death-flower of the frost, And pigeons in the frore air swooped and tossed, And glad eyes were more glad, and grave less grave. There is not pity enough in heaven or earth, There is not love enough, if children die Like famished birds--oh, less mercifully. A great wrong's done when such as these go forth Into the starless dark, broken and bruised, With mind and sweet affection all confused, And horror closing round them as they go. There is not pity enough! And I have made, children, these verses for you, Lasting a little longer than your breath, Because I have been haunted with your death: So men are driven to things they hate to do. Jesus, forgive us all our happiness, As Thou dost blot out all our miseries. HAPPY IS ENGLAND NOW There is not anything more wonderful Than a great people moving towards the deep Of an unguessed and unfeared future; nor Is aught so dear of all held dear before As the new passion stirring in their veins When the destroying Dragon wakes from sleep. Happy is England now, as never yet! And though the sorrows of the slow days fret Her faithfullest children, grief itself is proud. Ev'n the warm beauty of this spring and summer That turns to bitterness turns then to gladness Since for this England the beloved ones died.