In all the granaries throughout the land The fanning mills chirr softly, sifting grain, Cleaning the seed to make a rugged stand; So Fate is doing here on this broad plain. In lands beyond the sea her sieves are swords But here a giant mill, whose sieves are storm And drouth and scorching winds and insect hordes, Has had the task of winnowing to perform. A new age dawns, a stern demanding age Requiring men and nations which are strong. By war and pestilence and Nature's rage, Fate has been choosing those who shall belong. Close are the meshes as bleak years have shown, By which the prairie winnows out its own. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...REGARDING CHAINSAWS by HAYDEN CARRUTH SURFACES AND MASKS; 6 by CLARENCE MAJOR QUATORZAINS: 5. TO NIGHT by THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES THE WHITE WOMEN by MARY ELIZABETH COLERIDGE TO A POET THAT DIED YOUNG by EDNA ST. VINCENT MILLAY FAREWELL OF A VIRGINIA SLAVE MOTHER TO HER DAUGHTERS SOLD INTO BONDAGE by JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER OVID TO HIS WIFE: IMITATED FROM DIFFERENT PARTS OF TRISTIA by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD |