Where, in 1770, Was Shed the First Blood of the Revolution East of the rumble of Broadway, Among those streets where yesterday Is clean forgotten in the fray Of money and of trade, East from the ivy-shrouded walls Of gentlemanly old St. Paul's, My quiet way I made. And here, where Nassau touches Ann, Through all the noisy caravan Of this and other years, It seems from far there tingling comes The march of men—the roll of drums— A bugle in my ears. A century and a half ago (Where now the cursing draymen go), Its call thrilled out "Beware!" Then Liberty was something new— King George had not yet brewed his brew Nor redcoats drunk their share. Again that bugle-note is thrilling, Though ears be deaf and hearts unwilling— It sings as loudly still As when they melted leaden kings Into all sorts of useful things On top of Golden Hill. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ITALIAN PICTURES: THE COSTA SAN GIORGIO by MINA LOY THE RAINY SEASON by CLARENCE MAJOR A MENDOCINO MEMORY by EDWIN MARKHAM DOMESDAY BOOK: DR. TRACE TO THE CORONER by EDGAR LEE MASTERS SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: JUDGE SELAH LIVELY by EDGAR LEE MASTERS |