WHERE art thou, my leal "auld brither"? Where, say where, thy lowly home? I may never wend me thither; Thou to mine mayhap may'st come. Who art thou? A busy worker In the world's great labour mart, Tired with toil, of grave demeanour, And a loving, loyal heart. What art thou? A child of nature, Truthful, tuneful son of song, Trilling out thy wood-notes sweetly, Passing life's low vale along. Low the vale, yet oft the Muses Wander there, and we have heard, Sung in soft Parnassian measure, Strains that fired the listening bard. I am now an aged worker; I have toiled, and read, and sung; Oft my lyre was tuned to gladness— Ah! more oft by woe unstrung. Now my task is nearly ended, And ere long my song shall cease; Day is waning, shadows falling; Soon my eyes shall close in peace. Hast thou kindred thoughts, my brother? Dost thou muse upon the day, When the soul, released and ransomed, Cleaves the shades, and soars away? From a world of crime and sorrow, Bloody, bootless, wasteful war, Cruel drink—its woes and horrors— Oh! my soul would fly afar. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE GAME OF CHESS by EZRA POUND SOHRAB AND RUSTUM by MATTHEW ARNOLD A LITTLE BOY LOST, FR. SONGS OF EXPERIENCE by WILLIAM BLAKE IMPRESSION by EDMUND WILLIAM GOSSE THE INVITATION (TO TOM HUGHES) by CHARLES KINGSLEY LOST AT SEA by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH THE REPLY OF Q. HORATIUS FLACCUS TO A ROMAN 'ROUND-ROBIN' by ALFRED AUSTIN THE MILLENNNIUM (APOLOGIES AS USUAL) by BERTON BRALEY TOWARDS DEMOCRACY: PART 2. THESE WAVES OF YOUR GREAT HEART by EDWARD CARPENTER |