Oh, lion of the ample earth, What sword can cleave thy sinews through? The south forever cradles you; And yet the great North gives you birth. Go find an arm so strong, so sure, Go forge a sword so keen, so true, That it can thrust thy bosom through; Then may this union not endure! In orange lands I lean today Against thy warm tremendous mouth, Oh, tawny lion of the South, To hear what story you shall say. What story of the stormy North, Of frost-bound homes, of babes at play, What tales of twenty States the day You left your lair and leapt forth: The day you tore the mountain's breast And in the icy North uprose, And shook your sides of rains and snows, And rushed against the South to rest: Oh, tawny river, what of they, The far North folk? The maiden sweet -- The ardent lover at her feet -- What story of thy States today! The river kissed my garment's hem And whispered as it swept away: "God's story in all States today Is of a babe of Bethlehem." | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE OLD ENEMY by SARA TEASDALE A SPINSTER'S STINT by ALICE CARY PEACE by GERARD MANLEY HOPKINS THE SLEEPER by EDGAR ALLAN POE THE LAST RAFT by JOSEPH V. ADAMS TAKE HER, BREAK HER by ANACREON THE OLD VAGABOND by PIERRE JEAN DE BERANGER |