Swift melting into yesterday, The tortured hordes of ebon-clay; No more is heard the plaintive strain, The rhythmic chaunting of their pain. Their mounded bodies dimly rise To fill the gulf of sacrifice, And o'er their silent hearts below The mantled millions softly go. Some few remaining still abide, Gnarled sentinels of time and tide, Now mellowed by a chastened glow Which lighter hearts will never know. Winding into the silent way, Spent with the travail of the day, So royal in their humble might These uncrowned Pilgrims of the Night! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...AN ANCIENT PROPHECY by PHILIP FRENEAU MARIPOSA by EDNA ST. VINCENT MILLAY BEAUTIFUL THINGS by ELLEN P. ALLERTON SONNET AGAINST THE DISPRAYSERS OF POETRIE by RICHARD BARNFIELD MARATHON, SELECTION by CHARLOTTE FISKE BATES THE TEAMSTER by MATHILDE BLIND SONNETS FROM THE PORTUGUESE: 3 by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING VERMONT DRIED BEEF by DANIEL LEAVENS CADY THE CANTERBURY TALES: PROLOGUE TO SIR THOPAS by GEOFFREY CHAUCER |