An old woman rubs her eyes As though she were stroking children back to life. A slender Jewish boy whose forehead Is tall, and like a wind-marked wall, Restlessly waits while leaping prayers Clash their light-cymbals within his eyes. And a little hunchbacked girl Straightens her back with a slow-pulling smile. (I am afraid to look at her again.) Then the blurred, tawdry pictures rush across the scene, And I hear a swishing intake of breath, As though some band of shy rigid spirits Were standing before their last heaven. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ASHURNATSIRPAL III by CARL SANDBURG THE FUNERAL OF YOUTH: THRENODY by RUPERT BROOKE OLD FOLKS AT HOME by STEPHEN COLLINS FOSTER THE SOLSEQUIUM by ALEXANDER MONTGOMERIE ASTROPHEL AND STELLA: 98 by PHILIP SIDNEY BENEDICITE by JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER IMPROVEMENT IN THE FORTIES by THOMAS BARNARD |