White sleeping tombs, Housing those, Who'll wake no more To clamour of harsh sound; Or long green fingers, Clutching, covering; Or fetid breaths, Last remnants of clay. White sleeping tombs, Less mortal Than those housed within, Rising above blue shadows To meet the azure arc; Vibration of many victories, Proclaiming triumph In a million shafts of light. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...WE CAN'T WRITE OURSELVES INTO ETERNAL LIFE by DAVID IGNATOW COSMOPOLITE by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON FICTION by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON THE SEASONS by JAMES WELDON JOHNSON THE DAY OF THE DEAD SOLDIERS; MARY 30, 1869 by EMMA LAZARUS |