Arthur Quiller-Couch, comp. The Oxford Book of Victorian Verse. 1922.
The SettlersLaurence Housman (18651959)
H
How pleasant all the days that pass,
Here where the British settlers lie
Beneath their cloaks of grass!
And rich from toil stand hill and plain;
Men reap and store; but they sleep sound,
The men who sow’d the grain.
And wheresoe’er the soil had need
The furrow drave, and underfoot
They sow’d themselves for seed.
The brazen kine with fiery breath,
And over all the Colchian field
Strew’d far the seeds of death;
The seedlings of the dragon’s teeth,
And death ran multiplied once more
Across the hideous heath.
And fruitful be the fields which hide
Brave eyes that loved the light, and arms
That never clasp’d a bride!
Glad lovers holding death in scorn,
Out of the lives ye cast away
The coming race is born.