The dews drop slowly and dreams gather: unknown spears Suddenly hurtle before my dream-awakened eyes, And then the clash of fallen horsemen and the cries Of unknown perishing armies beat about my ears. We who still labour by the cromlech on the shore, The gray cairn on the hill, when day sinks drowned in dew, Being weary of the world's empires, bow down to you, Master of the still stars and of the flaming door. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: OSCAR HUMMEL by EDGAR LEE MASTERS THE SILLER CROUN by SUSANNA BLAMIRE THE OLD BURYING-GROUND by JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER SO I MAY FEEL THE HANDS OF GOD by ANNA HEMPSTEAD BRANCH |