The burned and dusty garden said: "My leaves are echoes, and thy earth Is packed with footsteps of the dead. "The strength of spring-time brought to birth Some needles on the crooked fir, -- A rose, a laurel -- little worth. "Come here, ye dreaming souls that err Among the immortals of the grave: My summer is your sepulchre. "On earth what darker voices rave Than now this sea-breeze, driving dust And whirling radiance wave on wave, "With lulls so fearful thro' the gust That on the shapeless flower-bed Like timber splits the yellow crust. "O thirsty, thirsty are the dead, Still thirsty, ever unallayed. Where is no water, bring no bread." I then had almost answer made, Where round the path in pleasure drew Three golden children to the shade. They stirred the dust with pail and hoe. Then did the littlest from his fear Come up and with his eyes of blue Give me some berries seriously. And as he turned to his brother, I Looked after him thro' happy tears. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: JACOB GODBEY by EDGAR LEE MASTERS PICTURES FROM APPLEDORE: 1 by JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL THESEUS by THOMAS STURGE MOORE THE FASHIONS, 1806 by LEWIS BEACH THREE MINUS ONE (REFRAIN SUGGESTED BY DR. RICHARD HOFFMAN) by BERTON BRALEY ODE TO HEALTH by FRANCES (MOORE) BROOKE THE WHITE-FOOTED DEER by WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT |