Spring 1946 • Vol. VIII No. 2 Poetry |

Sun of England

Sun, first enemy, who killed my brother In a dak bungalow deep in Nepal, Burn from your heavenly lake, eclipse, and wither The purple lupins on this western wall, Shine friend to memory and, reaching back, Show me England when we were tall and well. Or were the subdued voices and the subtle trick Of laughter, pensive wind in the elms Thinning a bunched perfume, signs we were sick, Spreading the chimes of Fulking and the psalms Of Poynings over miles of sopping meadows, Deprecating alike treason and vengeance in the realm Of the Stuarts, the kingdom of posthumous shadows? Steep in the inward landscape where we longed To hide, the larks screamed "Go to Barbados." To the fragile primrose in April we never belonged, Though first-love turned her yellow petals To uses that Chaucer promoted, Shakespeare prolonged. When rooks flew home early and the lazy kettle Boiled, discouraged lamplight sauntered Through privet gaps, revealing vicars settled With John Buchan t

Already have an account? Login

Join KR for even more to read.

Register for a free account to read five free pieces a month from our current issue and digital archive.
Register for Free and Read This Piece



Or become a subscriber today and get complete, immediate access to our digital archives at every subscription level.

Read More

Lancelot

By Louis Aragon, translated by Sally Wood

Sun, first enemy, who killed my brother In a dak bungalow deep in Nepal, Burn from your heavenly lake, eclipse, and wither The purple lupins on this western wall, Shine […]

Subscribe

Your free registration with Kenyon review incudes access to exclusive content, early access to program registration, and more.

Donate

With your support, we’ll continue 
to cultivate talent and publish extraordinary literature from diverse voices around the world.