O SWEET anemones on Sharon's plain, Light dancing seraphim of sun and rain, Was he not one of us, was he not ours? And yet he saved not us, O crimson flowers! As stars that bloom in heaven, full-bloom and still, As native stags that leap from hill to hill, As you, dear blossom-stars, on native plains, So planted here, with God, our home remains. I, too, would perish here, where he has died, But felled by horse and spear, not crucified; I, man of peace, would pour, O Rock of God, My freedom or my blood on Zion's sod. When pagans sweep thy fields with withering blast, My heart is sanctified to death at last; Its taste is honey-sweet within my mouth, For we that drink with God can dread no drouth. O sweet anemones on Sharon's plain, A spring shall come for us, to bloom again,— To God a day, to us a thousand years,— Who still remembers, lives, refreshed with tears. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...MISSING THE BO IN THE HENHOUSE by HAYDEN CARRUTH TO JOHN BROWN by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON THE EXPANDED COMPOSITION by CLARENCE MAJOR SONNET: 50 by GEORGE SANTAYANA BUCOLIC COMEDY: THE DOLL by EDITH SITWELL |