Wild Knight and Other Poems — Song of the Children

THE SONG OF THE CHILDREN

The World is ours till sunset, Holly and fire and snow;

And the name of our dead brother Who loved us long ago.

The grown folk mighty and cunning, They write his name in gold;

But we can tell a little Of the million tales he told.

He taught them laws and watchwords, To preach and struggle and pray;

But he taught us deep in the hayfield The games that the angels play.

Had he stayed here for ever, Their world would be wise as ours-- And the king be cutting capers, And the priest be picking flowers.

But the dark day came: they gathered: On their faces we could see They had taken and slain our brother, And hanged him on a tree.

THE FISH