And faces, forms and phantoms, numbered not, Gather and pass like mist upon the breeze, Jading the eye with uncouth images: Women with muskets, children dropping shot By fields half harvested or left in fear Of Indian inroad, or the Hessian near; Disaster, poverty, and dire disease. Or from the burning village, through the trees I see the smoke in reddening volumes roll, The Indian file in shadowy silence pass While the last man sets up the trampled grass, The Tory priest declaiming, fierce and fat, The Shay's man with the green branch in his hat, Or silent sagamore, Shaug or Wassahoale. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE RUBAIYAT, 1879 EDITION: 12 by OMAR KHAYYAM SEVEN AGES OF MAN, FR. AS YOU LIKE IT by WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE SUPER FLUMINA BABYLONIS by ALGERNON CHARLES SWINBURNE SHADOWS IN THE WATER by THOMAS TRAHERNE WHEN THE SULTAN GOES TO ISPAHAN by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH IN MEMORY: MISS JEWETT by GRACE ALLERTON ANDREWS THE WATERS OF LETHE by HARRY RANDOLPH BLYTHE AN EPILOGUE TO THE STEALING OF DIONYSOS: IACHOS SPEAKING by GORDON BOTTOMLEY |