The Pagan

Eric Blair

(a.k.a. George Orwell)

Autumn 1918

The Pagan (George Orwell) by Jennifer Geiss

SO HERE are you, and here am I,

Where we may thank our gods to be;

Above the earth, beneath the sky,

Naked souls alive and free.

The autumn wind goes rustling by

And stirs the stubble at our feet;

Out of the west it whispering blows,

Stops to caress and onward goes,

Bringing its earthy odours sweet.

See with what pride the setting sun

Kinglike in gold and purple dies,

And like a robe of rainbow spun

Tinges the earth with shades divine.

That mystic light is in your eyes

And ever in your heart will shine.

Note

According to The Orwell Prize, this poem, “addressed to Orwell’s friend Jacintha Buddicom, refers to a disagreement between the Oxford High School authorities and the Buddicoms over their agnosticism.”