If culture had fluidity It would drip from her finger-tips like rain, And where it spattered there would be Indelible purple stain. If quietude had tongue what speech Would iterate above her head, What clamorous echoes would beseech Behind her quiet tread. But spent blood leaves no stain nor stir, Save in that art which marks her ways -- The background dead hands make for her With their defeated days. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE YOUNG GRAY HEAD by CAROLINE ANNE BOWLES SOUTHEY THE LANDLADY'S DAUGHTER by JOHANN LUDWIG UHLAND THE BURIAL OF SIR JOHN MOORE AT [OR AFTER] CORUNNA by CHARLES WOLFE PEARLS OF THE FAITH: 46. AL-WASI'H by EDWIN ARNOLD OUR PASSWORD by ISIDORE G. ASCHER WHAT THE MOON KNOWS by RICHARD BEHM |