Old towns set high above the Mississippi, Stray houses on the gray bluffs, you are white And still and beautiful among the trees. The black farm land is lapped by the high water. There is nothing so rich and wide as black fields At the base of hills. We speak of the river as old. Familiar. We cannot say truly that this is the river Of our fathers, the one they crossed in canoes to hunt The bear and wildcat. The trough of the river is old; The waters are new and strange as the flow of life On a crowded street. They bear a thousand names From creek and spring at the sources of many streams. Here is rain we did not feel and melting ice From the north. Our forefathers crossed to escape the high water. We stand on the bluffs. We are safe and the river goes by Like a stranger who will not pause even for the night. On the wide reaches of the lower Mississippi Live those who have no hills. They are caught up And swept away by the spring flood. We are safe. The white house on the hill, the black land Is our heritage. We are folded in low hills. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: JAMES GARBER by EDGAR LEE MASTERS THE WIZARD IN WORDS by MARIANNE MOORE VIGNETTES OVERSEAS: 10. STRESA by SARA TEASDALE BY THE POTOMAC by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH A BOOK OF AIRS SONG 18 by THOMAS CAMPION THE UNIVERSITY OF GOTTINGEN by GEORGE CANNING LINES WRITTEN IN THE ALBUM AT ELBINGERODE, IN HARTZ FOREST by SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE |