Who are these children?

With easy hands upon the rein,

And hounds at their horses feet,

The ladies and the gentlemen

Ride through the village street.

Brightness of blood upon the coats

And on the women’s lips:

Brightness of silver at the throats

And on the hunting whips.

Is there a dale more calm, more green

Under this morning hour;

A scene more alien than this scene

Within a world at war?

Who are these children gathered here

Out of the fire and smoke

That with remembering faces stare

Upon the foxing folk?