WE are the old, the unremembered dead— Forgot, we lie In country graveyards high on lonely hills; We are unwept save by such tears as sheds The pitying sky. Above old graves in city streets, sometimes A passer finds The time to pause and sigh—remembering! But none pass by us here. Above us sigh Only the winds. The hands that laid us here long, long are dust; The passioned tears Shed then for us are dried; the faltering feet That followed us in grief have now lain still Unnumbered years. And stranger hands now till the fields we cleared; Strange voices ring Beneath the roofs we raised; beneath the trees We planted, strange young lovers make their vows Each passing Spring. The alien plow that draws so near, so near, Disturbs our rest— Here in our sunken and neglected graves, We stir—yet well we know that there is none Who will protest. We are unclamoring—we only ask That we may lie Safe from the plow that threatens our old graves— Covered by vines, mourned by the passing winds, Wept by the sky! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...BATTLE OF BRITAIN by CECIL DAY LEWIS REMEMBERING NAT TURNER by STERLING ALLEN BROWN NAPOLEON AND THE BRITISH [OR ENGLISH] SAILOR [BOY] by THOMAS CAMPBELL ELEGY WRITTEN IN A COUNTRY CHURCHYARD by THOMAS GRAY THE OLD MAN DREAMS by OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES TO A BUTTERFLY (1) by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH THE LAMENTATION OF THE OLD PENSIONER (1) by WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS |