Classic and Contemporary Poetry
WORDS ON PUBLIC AFFAIRS, by WITTER BYNNER Poet's Biography First Line: Continents twisted in the grip of war Last Line: Was that a whisper in the evening trees? Alternate Author Name(s): Morgan, Emanuel Subject(s): Lincoln, Abraham (1809-1865); Presidents, United States; Unknown Soldier | ||||||||
FRUITS Continents twisted in the grip of war -- What for? Markets and roads and tariffs and per cents And rents; New buzzards for old eagles, birds of prey At play; Empire, whatever be its altered name, The same Outcome of peoples' passions and their dreams, In schemes Of politicians and of banking-men! And then -- The dreamers wake. And to an iron few Come due The notes of folly at the rates of fear. The seer, Reviled by lawyers, hated by the schools Of fools, Comes out of prison, with a crown of pain Again. And the average man, confused and meek and lean, Has seen Only the stars in moving-picture shows -- And goes Yielding his bonds at a discount to the banks, With thanks. LINCOLN Lincoln, come back to us, for all our ways are changed From open difference between right and wrong. Only the strong Are right. We are estranged From our own childhood. We have fought a war Illumined with the name Of liberty -- yet, unashamed of shame, We sell the liberty we fought it for. Lincoln, come back To make our cowardice brave. There is no darkness in the grave Like to this lack Of decent manhood, no decay in death Like to this lust For comfortable importance and no dust In any mouth so cruel as our living breath. Ireland has cried to us. Perhaps we heard. China we seem to answer. India we may befriend. And yet we only swagger and pretend When, infamous, we speak the word You, Lincoln, spoke for us and dare to call A race like this American at all: A traitor-race, Enslaving Haiti, casting out the truth From Santo Domingo, fouling its own youth. . . . Lincoln, come back and look us in the face. THE UNKNOWN SOLDIER And then I felt a fever in my veins To be done with all these passions, all these pains. I envied the Unknown Soldier. Let him lie Solemn, anonymous. A man must die -- What difference whether mighty with no name Or with dated lettering of a puny fame? Death is a simpler matter, anyway, Than merely living on from day to day, The blunders and the blaming and the blinking -- No wonder wars occur, instead of thinking! Must we be fools and, when we organize, Grow twice as sinister and half as wise? When we enlist as soldiers of a State Or race or creed or culture, anything great, Why will we think as little as we can, Instead of being friendly man to man? . . . The hour the great memorial went by, I saw a woman clasp a child and cry -- And then a touch of fever caught her breath, To have her baby die as fine a death. Are there any fruits to know us by but these? Was that a whisper in the evening trees? | Discover our poem explanations - click here!Other Poems of Interest...SEVEN LAMENTS FOR THE WAR-DEAD: 3 by YEHUDA AMICHAI THE ALTAR STONE by RICHARD ALEXANDER MAY 30, 1893 by JOHN KENDRICK BANGS THE UNKNOWN SOLDIER by WITTER BYNNER NOVEMBER 11TH by FRANK E. CAMPBELL UNIDENTIFIED by MARIE LOUISE HERSEY THE UNKNOWN by HARRY HIBBARD KEMP THE UNKNOWN by ELMER O. LAUGHLIN EPITAPH by ISABEL ECCLESTONE MACKAY |
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