How many sons, how many generations, For how long years hast thou bewept, and known Nor end of torment nor surcease of moan, Rachel or Rizpah, wofullest of nations, Crowned with the crowning sign of desolation. And couldest not even scare off with hand or groan Those carrion birds devouring bone by bone The children of thy thousand tribulations? Thou wast our warrior once; thy song long dead Against a foe less foul than this made head, Poland, in years that sound and shine afar; Ere the east beheld in thy bright sword-blade's stead The rotten corpse-light of the Russian star That lights towards hell his bondslaves and their Czar. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE SERGEANT'S WEDDIN' by RUDYARD KIPLING ROLL-CALL by NATHANIEL GRAHAM SHEPHERD THE EBB AND FLOW by EDWARD TAYLOR INDEPENDENCE DAY by ROYALL TYLER THE RAZOR-SELLER by JOHN WOLCOTT THE SORROW OF LOVE (1) by WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS A NIGHT IN JUNE by ALFRED AUSTIN |