Out of the hills shall come an endless singing, An anthem, aeons old, flung to the sky; and down through vales come ageless echoes ringing, Bright overtones of faith that cannot die. Across the hills tramp strong, brown gypsy brothers, Clan of a rustic race who know no fear, Born of faithful, sturdy, toiling mothers, Who taught their youths to stay the futile tear. Up from the soil spring wonders of creation, Who trample the misty peaks to a new-found day; These are the brawn and sinew of our nation, Carrying their clean ideals to the far away. Purple shadows lengthen across the deep As the hill folds her children on her breast to sleep. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SONNET COMPOSED ON A JOURNEY HOMEWARD by SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE FROM THE DARK TOWER by COUNTEE CULLEN A MODEST LOVE; SONG by EDWARD DYER THE HOLLY TREE by ROBERT SOUTHEY THE SHEPHEARDES CALENDER: AUGUST by EDMUND SPENSER THE BIRDS: THE HOOPOE'S CALL TO THE BIRDS by ARISTOPHANES FRIDAY NIGHT by ISIDORE G. ASCHER HINC LACHRIMAE; OR THE AUTHOR TO AURORA: 23 by WILLIAM BOSWORTH |