THEY brought me ambrotypes Of the old pioneers to enlarge. And sometimes one sat for me -- Some one who was in being When giant hands from the womb of the world Tore the republic. What was it in their eyes? -- For I could never fathom That mystical pathos of drooped eyelids, And the serene sorrow of their eyes. It was like a pool of water, Amid oak trees at the edge of a forest, Where the leaves fall, As you hear the crow of a cock From a far-off farm house, seen near the hills Where the third generation lives, and the strong men And the strong women are gone and forgotten. And these grand-children and great grand-children Of the pioneers! Truly did my camera record their faces, too, With so much of the old strength gone, And the old faith gone, And the old mastery of life gone, And the old courage gone, Which labors and loves and suffers and sings Under the sun! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...NATURE (2) by RALPH WALDO EMERSON THE SONG OF SHERMAN'S ARMY by CHARLES GRAHAM HALPINE THE PRESENT CRISIS by JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL THE RUBAIYAT, 1879 EDITION: 101 by OMAR KHAYYAM ASTROPHEL AND STELLA: 31 by PHILIP SIDNEY THE HORSE AND HIS RIDER by JOANNA BAILLIE |