The Wakers

The joyous morning ran and kissed the grass
And drew his fingers through her sleeping hair,
And cried, "Before thy flowers are well awake
Rise, and the lingering darkness from thee shake.

"Before the daisy and the sorrel buy
Their brightness back from that close-folding night,
Come, and the shadows from thy bosom shake,
Awake from thy thick sleep, awake, awake!"

Then the grass of that mounded meadow stirred
Above the Roman bones that may not stir
Though joyous morning whispered, shouted, sang:
The grass stirred as that happy music rang.

O, what a wondrous rustling everywhere!
The steady shadows shook and thinned and died,
The shining grass flashed brightness back for brightness,
And sleep was gone, and there was heavenly lightness.

As if she had found wings, light as the wind,
The grass flew, bent with the wind, from east to west,
Chased by one wild grey cloud, and flashing all
Her dews for happiness to hear morning call....

But even as I stepped out the brightness dimmed,
I saw the fading edge of all delight.
The sober morning waked the drowsy herds,
And there was the old scolding of the birds.

John Frederick Freeman

John Frederick Freeman was a British poet, notable as a Georgian poet. He was born in London and worked initially as an office boy and later as a clerk before gaining recognition for his poetic works. Freeman primarily wrote about nature, identity, and the human condition. Over the course of his literary career, he published several books of poetry, and his works were praised for their sincerity and technical excellence. His notable collections include 'Presage of Victory' and 'Stone Trees.'

John Frederick Freeman

The Caves

John Frederick Freeman, Simple Poetry

Justification

John Frederick Freeman, Simple Poetry

The Men Who Loved The Cause That Never Dies

John Frederick Freeman, Simple Poetry

Beechwood

John Frederick Freeman, Simple Poetry

English

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Winter was weary. All his snows were failing--
Still from his stiff grey head he shook the rime
Upon the grasses, bushes and broad hedges,
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In the soft wind, no more afraid of Winter.
Nor chaffinch, wren, nor lark was now afraid.
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Summer Morning

The cocks have now the morn foretold,
The sun again begins to peep,
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Unpens and frees the captive sheep.
Oer pathless plains at early hours
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Bemoistening sop his hardened shoes

While every leaf that forms a shade,
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And every shivering bent and blade,
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Is gilding sweet the village-spire.

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I hear a song the wet leaves lisp
When Morn comes down the woodland way;
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II.

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The Undying

In thin clear light unshadowed shapes go by
Small on green fields beneath the hueless sky.
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Seem only thought, for when I spoke they stirred not
And their bright minds conversing my ear heard not.
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Spider-like frail and all unconscious wrought.
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Sunrise.

How few there are who know the pure delight,
The chaste influence, and the solace sweet,
Of walking forth to see the glorious sight,
When nature rises, with respect, to greet
The lord of day on his majestic seat,
Like some great personage of high degree,
Who cometh forth his subjects all to meet,
Like him, but yet more glorious far than he,
He comes with splendor bright, to shed o'er land and sea.

With stately, slow and solemn march he comes,
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Unheralded by sounding brass or drums,
His blazing glory on our planet plays,
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His undimm'd splendor maketh mortals quail,
And e'en, at times, it fiercely strikes and slays;
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