A MAN once stood before a frowning wall Whereon was writ a lie since ancient days, And threw his heart's blood by the cupful straight Against the legend, so to wipe it out, Tapping his veins of all their purple yield In his desire. At last he grew so weak That, tottering-limbed, he heaved glazed eyes to heaven, Sighed like a weary child, smiled once, and fell. And when his dust was mingled with the mold That burgeons into flowers, the people woke One morn, and looked upon the wall, to see A clean erasure of the glozing words Had grieved the man so, he that calmly slept, Oblivious alike of loves and lies That make our human story. Then there ran A whisper, soon a cry, across the land: "God urged him to the act, and he was glad To spill his blood and make us clearer-eyed." Whereat the very folk who carelessly Passed by that day he drained his throbbing strength And paled his flesh, upreared a cenotaph And deified his name to after-times. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: AMANDA BARKER by EDGAR LEE MASTERS THE END OF THE PLAY by WILLIAM MAKEPEACE THACKERAY A SONG: REVENGE AGAINST CYNTHIA by PHILIP AYRES GEORGE WASHINGTON by LAURA REW BIXBY GHOST FLOWERS by ALTA SMITH BOYD ON THESE LABOURED POEMS OF THE DECEASED AUTHOR, MR. WILLIAM BOSWORTH by L. C. |