NO grave more nobly graced, No whiter pall than that which wraps the heads Of those who sleep where the lone land outspreads Its ice-bound waste. These, Mother, were thy sons, Brood of thy brood, whose seed by sea and land Still man to-day, and in days gone have manned Our English guns. No mortal foe defied. What Nature in her silent holds of snow Hides from all outer ken, they strove to know, And striving -- died. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A WINTER NIGHT by SARA TEASDALE TO MY MOTHER SLEEPING by MARY RUSSELL MITFORD TO A CHAMELEON by MARIANNE MOORE SUDDEN LIGHT by DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI BEYOND GOOD AND EVIL by GEORGE EDWARD WOODBERRY THE ADORATION OF DISK BY KING AKHNATEN AND PRINCESS NEFER NEFERIU ATEN by AKHENATEN A PICTURE AT NEWSTEAD by MATTHEW ARNOLD |