Explore "The Oxford Thrushes (the Red Flower and Golden Stars)" by Henry Van Dyke on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
I never thought again to hear / The Oxford thrushes singing clear, / Amid the February rain, / Their sweet, indomitable strain.
A wintry vapor lightly spreads / Among the trees, and round the beds / Where daffodil and jonquil sleep; / Only the snowdrop wakes to weep.
It is not springtime yet. Alas, / What dark, tempestuous days must pass, / Till England's trial by battle cease, / And summer comes again with peace.
The lofty halls, the tranquil towers, / Where Learning in untroubled hours / Held her high court, serene in fame, / Are lovely still, yet not the same.
The novices in fluttering gown / No longer fill the ancient town; / But fighting men in khaki drest, / And in the Schools the wounded rest.
Ah, far away, 'neath stranger skies / Full many a son of Oxford lies, / And whispers from his warrior grave, / "I died to keep the faith you gave."
The mother mourns, but does not fail, / Her courage and her love prevail / O'er sorrow, and her spirit hears / The promise of triumphant years.
Then sing, ye thrushes, in the rain / Your sweet indomitable strain.
Ye bring a word from God on high / And voices in our hearts reply.