There are graves on many hill-sides, White stones in shining rows, Where half a hundred winters Have spread their velvet snows. To each the Springtime priestess Her Paschal flowers will bear; Each Summer's offered incense Will breathe a people's prayer. Over seas in tropic jungles Of Cuba and Luzon, The tangled thickets cover What mothers called their own. But snows shall never whiten The graves wide scattered there; Above them alien blossoms Their censers swing in air. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE LAST MAN'S CLUB by JAMES GALVIN THE CRESCENT MOON by AMY LOWELL THE AWAKENING RIVER by KATHERINE MANSFIELD DOMESDAY BOOK: THE CORONER by EDGAR LEE MASTERS RICHARD BOOTH TO HIS SON JUNIUS BRUTUS by EDGAR LEE MASTERS |