Oh what is that country And where can it be, Not mine own country, But dearer far to me? Yet mine own country, If I one day may see Its spices and cedars, Its gold and ivory. As I lie dreaming It rises, that land; There rises before me Its green golden strand, With the bowing cedars And the shining sand; It sparkles and flashes Like a shaken brand. Do angels lean nearer While I lie and long? I see their soft plumage And catch their windy song, Like the rise of a high tide Sweeping full and strong; I mark the outskirts Of their reverend throng. Oh what is a king here, Or what is a boor? Here all starve together, All dwarfed and poor; Here Death's hand knocketh At door after door, He thins the dancers From the festal floor. Oh what is a handmaid, Or what is a queen? All must lie down together Where the turf is green, The foulest face hidden, The fairest not seen; Gone as if never They had breathed or been. Gone from sweet sunshine Underneath the sod, Turned from warm flesh and blood To senseless clod, Gone as if never They had toiled or trod, Gone out of sight of all Except our God. Shut into silence From the accustomed song, Shut into solitude From all earth's throng, Run down tho' swift of foot, Thrust down tho' strong; Life made an end of Seemed it short or long. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A CONSECRATION by JOHN MASEFIELD BALLAD OF HECTOR IN HADES by EDWIN MUIR CHAMPAGNE, 1914-1915 by ALAN SEEGER WINDY NIGHTS by ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON WINTER MEMORIES by HENRY DAVID THOREAU THE COMING OF THE SNOW by MARION L. BERTRAND ON BEING ASKED WHAT WAS THE 'ORIGIN OF LOVE' by GEORGE GORDON BYRON |