Fringford Brook by Violet Jacob read by Zane C Weber

Fringford Brook by Violet JacobThe willows stand by Fringford brook,From Fringford up to Hethe,Sun on their cloudy silver heads,And shadow underneath.They ripple to the silent airsThat stir the lazy day,Now whitened by their passing hands,Now turned again to grey.The slim marsh-thistle's purple plumeDroops tasselled on the stem,The golden hawkweeds pierce like flameThe grass that harbours them;Long drowning tresses of the weedsTrail where the stream is slow,The vapoured mauves of water-mintMelt in the pools below;Serenely soft September shedsOn earth her slumberous look,The heartbreak of an anguished worldThrobs not by Fringford brook.All peace is here. Beyond our range,Yet 'neath the selfsame sky,The boys that knew these fields of homeBy Flemish willows lie.They waded in the sun-shot flow,They loitered in the shade,Who trod the heavy road of death,Jesting and unafraid.Peace! What of peace? This glimpse of peaceLies at the heart of pain,For respite, ere the spirit's loadWe stoop to lift again.O load of grief, of faith, of wrath,Of patient, quenchless will,Till God shall ease us of your weightWe'll bear you higher still!O ghosts that walk by Fringford brook,'Tis more than peace you give,For you, who knew so well to die,Shall teach us how to live.Find us online at thatsnotcanon.com/epigraphySubscribe to us on ITUNES, STITCHER, SPOTIFY, RADIOPUBLIC or your podcatcher of choice.Find us on FACEBOOK, TWITTER or INSTAGRAM. Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.