ACROSTIC BORN on the breast of the prairie, she smiles to her sirethe sun, Robed in the wealth of her wheat-lands, gift of her mothering soil, Affluence knocks at her gateways, opulence waits to be won. Nuggets of gold are her acres, yielding and yellow with spoil, Dream of the hungry millions, dawn of the food-filled age, Over the starving tale of want her fingers have turned the page; Nations will nurse at her storehouse, and God gives her grain for wage. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE DISAPPOINTMENT by APHRA BEHN PRAISE FOR AN URN; IN MEMORIAM: ERNEST NELSON by HAROLD HART CRANE THE FACTORY; 'TIS AN ACCURSED THING! by LETITIA ELIZABETH LANDON FOR CHARLIE'S SAKE by JOHN WILLIAMSON PALMER HUGH SELWYN MAUBERLEY: 9. MR. NIXON by EZRA POUND |