The Massacre
The shadow of a poplar tree Lay in that lake of sun, As I with my little sword went in - Against a thousand, one. Haughty and infinitely armed, Insolent in their wrath, Plumed high with purple plumes they held The narrow meadow path. The air was sultry; all was still; The sun like flashing glass; And snip-snap my light-whispering steel In arcs of light did pass. Lightly and dull fell each proud head, Spiked keen without avail, Till swam my uncontented blade With ichor green and pale. And silence fell: the rushing sun Stood still in paths of heat, Gazing in waves of horror on The dead about my feet. Never a whir of wing, no bee Stirred o'er the shameful slain; Nought but a thirsty wasp crept in, Stooped, and came out again. The very air trembled in fear; Eclipsing shadow seemed Rising in crimson waves of gloom - On one who dreamed.
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"The shadow of a poplar tree..."
This evocative piece by Walter De La Mare, titled "The Massacre", represents a masterful exploration of classic. The lines capture a profound emotional resonance... ### Why We Love This Line At Linespedia, we believe that poetry is the ultimate sanctuary for the soul...