At the high ridge Of a wide war-stricken realm There stands an ancient wooden Christ. Hollow the tottering image towers, Eyeless and rotten, and decrepit there, His smile a cruel twist. Within the empty heart of this old Christ Small stinging insects build their nests; And iron-hearted soldiers cross themselves The while they pass The hollow-hearted figure by. I think there is no Christ left there In all those carnage-loving lands Save only this of hollow wood With wasp nests Hiving in its heart. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TO CARMEN SYLVA (QUEEN OF ROUMANIA) by EMMA LAZARUS CANTICLE OF THE RACE by EDGAR LEE MASTERS OCTAVES: 8 by EDWIN ARLINGTON ROBINSON A PSALM OF TRAVEL by GEORGE SANTAYANA SUNSET AND SUNRISE by EMILY DICKINSON THE NEW EZEKIEL by EMMA LAZARUS EPITAPH INTENDED FOR SIR ISAAC NEWTON, IN WESTMINSTER ABBEY by ALEXANDER POPE |