When Dawn strides out to wake a dewy farm Across green fields and yellow hills of hay The little twittering birds laugh in his way And poise triumphant on his shining arm. He bears a sword of flame but not to harm The wakened life that feels his quickening sway And barnyard voiceske a wounded thing That limps to cover from the angry chase, He steals down streets where sickly arc-lights sing, And wanly mock his young and shameful face; And tiny gongs with cruel fervor ring In many a high and dreary sleeping place. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TO OUR MOCKING-BIRD; DIED OF A CAT, MAY, 1878 by SIDNEY LANIER SIMON SURNAMED PETER by EDGAR LEE MASTERS TO SHAKESPEARE by DAVID HARTLEY COLERIDGE ROSE AYLMER by WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR AT MIDSUMMER by LOUISE CHANDLER MOULTON THE LAND O' THE LEAL by CAROLINA OLIPHANT NAIRNE |