A child's small hand, lost in her father's - twined In springtide round the stems of earliest flowers, Which she had found in fields and orchard-bowers, With earnest eyes, that best deserve to find; A woman's hand - whose pulses ever glowed With eager purpose, running bolder blood Than childhood's; though the loving teardrops flowed Whene'er she clasped in dreams her country's good: An armed hand! fresh from the stricken throat Of that fierce homicide, whose rage of heart Woke counter-rage, that came and saw and smote; Ah! maiden's hand! blood-stained at last! thou art The very symbol of the unnatural time When Norman Charlotte dared her noble crime. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE MOTHER by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON AFTER DIVORCE; FOR NAHID SARMAD by KAREN SWENSON THE AMERICAN FLAG by JOSEPH RODMAN DRAKE THE LADY'S DRESSING ROOM by JONATHAN SWIFT MUSIC OF HUNGARY by ANNE REEVE ALDRICH A MOTH FOUND ON THE FLOOR by EDNA M. BECKER THE IMPROVISATORE: ALBERT AND EMILY by THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES |