AS the long desert downs you pass between, That French Sahara, bleached sands far and wide 'Mid the sere grass, and water ditches green, You see no tree, but pine with wounded side. For, to deprive him of his resinous tears, Man, Nature's murderer, slave of avarice, Who only lives by what he kills and tears, In his pained trunk cuts a large orifice. Ne'er grudging that his life-blood flows away, The pine his balsam yields till all is lost, And holds himself upright in full array, Like wounded soldier dying at his post. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ULTIMA THULE: NIGHT by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW A DESCRIPTION OF THE MORNING by JONATHAN SWIFT PRESIDENT LINCOLN'S BURIAL HYMN by WALT WHITMAN THE DARK VISITOR by ANNE MILLAY BREMER WAR NOTES: 4. DECORATION DAY by RICHARD EUGENE BURTON DISSECTION OF A BEAU'S HEAD by JOHN BYROM EFFECT OF ORATORY UPON A MULTITUDE by GEORGE CROLY |