@3Voice of Earth:@1 These are my children's voices! Born Not of the sun, who, for a heritage, Giveth a light wherewith to see, a fire To burn away the dross gat from my loins; Nor of the moon whose sons are mad with beauty; Nor of the stars, for they, thro' change and drift, Behold the steadfast heavens and the pole. But these are mine, unfathered and unclaimed, Sustained by shining from no sun nor moon Nor fixed nor vagrant star. Yea, they are mine -- Dust that is black with my ferocious blood And brackish with my tears. Their days are short at best, and they return With shuddering to my bosom's dark, yet now They rob each other of the little years their due, And choke the houses of the whimpering dead! And why? O why? Another's folly wrought this holocaust, Calling it falsely by a sacred name, Turning the shambles to an altar stone, And butchery to sacrifice! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ROOTS AND LEAVES THEMSELVES ALONE by WALT WHITMAN PANEGYRIC by ABU BAKR MUHUMMAD PEARLS OF THE FAITH: 80, 81. GHAFOOR, MUNTAKIM by EDWIN ARNOLD THE TRAGIC MARY QUEEN OF SCOTS: 1 by KATHERINE HARRIS BRADLEY ITALY by WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT |