Swift melting into yesterday, The tortured hordes of ebon-clay; No more is heard the plaintive strain, The rhythmic chaunting of their pain. Their mounded bodies dimly rise To fill the gulf of sacrifice, And o'er their silent hearts below The mantled millions softly go. Some few remaining still abide, Gnarled sentinels of time and tide, Now mellowed by a chastened glow Which lighter hearts will never know. Winding into the silent way, Spent with the travail of the day, So royal in their humble might These uncrowned Pilgrims of the Night! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...JOHN BROWN'S BODY by CHARLES SPRAGUE HALL SHADOWS by VICTOR GUSTAVE PLARR THE WORLD by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI THE SANDPIPER by CELIA LEIGHTON THAXTER MELANCHOLY by PHILIP EDWARD THOMAS DOWN BY THE SALLEY GARDENS by WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS DIXIT, ET IN MENSAM by CHARLES WILLIAM SHIRLEY BROOKS |