WHEN I think sometimes of what wondrous fame Hath fallen upon men of noisy deeds, Of laurel flung for every drop that bleeds, And grateful nations busy with a name, I turn to those who, deaf to praise or blame, Labor in silence for their brothers' needs, Sowing in darkness those immortal seeds One day to blossom in men's souls like flame. Ah, these unrecognized, unhailed, denied, These heroes of what land or age they be, Who mutely anguish at the task undone, These wonderful white Christs, not crucified On a high place for all the world to see, -- But striving on, unnoted and alone! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE LANDING OF THE PILGRIM FATHERS IN NEW ENGLAND [NOVEMBER 19, 1620] by FELICIA DOROTHEA HEMANS LAMENT OF THE IRISH EMIGRANT by HELEN SELINA SHERIDAN FOR THE YOUNGEST by CHARLES WESLEY THE WHITE CHARGER by ABUS SALT AIR: 'CAPTAIN JINKS' by FRANKLIN PIERCE ADAMS THE FOUNTAIN by MUHAMMAD AL-MU'TAMID II TO A HUMMING BIRD by GLADYS ARNE THE DEAD DRUMMER; A LEGEND OF SALISBURY PLAIN by RICHARD HARRIS BARHAM SONNETS OF MANHOOD: 31. A QUESTION by GEORGE BARLOW (1847-1913) |