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Classic and Contemporary Poetry
THE SNAPPING OF THE BOW, by JAMES DAVID CORROTHERS Poet's Biography First Line: I dreamed a dream, and, in my dream, I heard Last Line: That holds its secret still in egypt's sands. Subject(s): Blacks; Slavery; Serfs | |||
"The toad beneath the harrow knows Exactly where each harrow-tooth goes; The butterfly upon the road, Preaches contentment to that toad." - Kipling I dreamed a dream, and, in my dream, I heard One wail at midnight by a convent's walls. And, as he wailed, he clutched the stars, and shook The pillars of the firmament of God, And rolled the thunders of Olympus down On men; and they besought their holy ones To plead with him - lest he might spoil the world. His face was bronze; his limbs were bronze but steel; His mane was blacker than the Steeds of Night. And his great eyes flashed warnings from beneath A citadel where daring thoughts abode. - A comely youth - why needed he to weep? Alas! upon his brow he wore the brand Of degradation, and upon his neck A circlet galling as a crime! - And from The cursed thing a chain of hate e'er bound Him where he stood. His hands were manacled; His limbs wore thongs that cut the flesh agape, Until, from the pure pain, he writhed and wept, - As weeps a conquered god - the prisoner of Despair! He flung himself upon his knees, and burst into a prayer: "O God, and hast Thou made me for these miseries? I feel Myself a man - I have the spirit and The hopes of one. O, why, then, must I strive And fail? - No lake is clearer than my soul; No ship is prouder; none more temptest tost. 'Tis true my brow is dark; but, in the night, My spirit walks the stars, and lightly spurns Its kinship to this world! - Lord, I have tried; That burden of the failure rests with thee." So fell he tranced. But, on the plain there rose A phantom of the silent sphinx - the grim, Spell-casting thought of some deep master dead. And lo! beside its ancient, crumbling base, Napoleon, fresh from mighty deeds of war, Halted his band, and spoke in tones of awe. - All this I saw, and dreamed that yet - aye, yet! - The race might rise that built the awful thing That holds its secret still in Egypt's sands. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...JOY IN THE WOODS by CLAUDE MCKAY ELIZABETH KECKLEY: 30 YEARS A SLAVE AND 4 YEARS IN THE WHITE HOUSE by E. ETHELBERT MILLER EMANCIPATION by ELIZABETH ALEXANDER JOHN BROWN'S BODY by STEPHEN VINCENT BENET AN INDIGNATION DINNER by JAMES DAVID CORROTHERS |
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