Explore "The Quiet Valley" by Francis Sherman on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
They pity me who have grown old, -- / So old, mine eyes may not behold / If any wolf chance near the fold.
They pity me, because, alas!
I lie and dream among the grass, / And let the herds unheeded pass.
They deem I must be sorrowing, / Because I note not when the Spring / Is over me and everything.
They know not why I am forlorn, -- / How could they know? -- They were not born / When he rode here that April morn.
They were not living when he came / Into this valley, swift like flame, -- / Perchance they have not heard his name!
My men were very valiant men -- / (Alas, that I had only ten!
These people were not living then.)
But when one is not yet awake / His banner is not hard to take, / His spears are easy things to break.
And dazed men are not hard to slay / When many foes, as strong as they, / With swords and spears come down their way.
This valley now has quiet grown; / And I lie here content, alone, / Dreaming of things that I have known;
And count the mounds of waving grass -- / (Ten, -- yea, and ten more, by the Mass! ) / And let the restless cattle pass.