The Chinese tombs, Some, squares of shrubby trees, some, peaks and mounds, But more like tile-roofed huts and cottages, Rise here and there among the fertile grounds. The spring day blooms Palely above them, and a warm tear falls At moments from her opening eyes upon Those hillocks and those walls; The encircling wheat and beans as yet are wan, With the dim stress of winter hardly gone; The green corn waves With the thin wind in its tall shroudage flowing, Above those graves; the living labourer's hoeing Ends those graves. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE BLACK REGIMENT by GEORGE HENRY BOKER AN ORDER FOR A PICTURE by ALICE CARY MISSIONARY HYMN by REGINALD HEBER UPON JULIA'S VOICE by ROBERT HERRICK THE NEW COLOSSUS by EMMA LAZARUS A BATTLE BALLAD TO GENERAL J.E. JOHNSTON by FRANCIS ORRERY TICKNOR |