A FORETIMES, fruitfulness and tilth were here. Snug granges held the harvests, acres broad Were rich in grass and grain; the good-man's board Groaned with its plenty, and a rustic cheer Sat in the homesteads sprinkled far and near. To-day, prosperity no more is lord; Choked wells, roofs fallen, weed-grown ways afford A vision desolate and a memory drear. Sons of New England, your ingratitude, Like that once shown to tragic Lear, is base! For now ye scorn the teeming mother-breast That gave you strength, and in a vagrant mood Will turn to alien meadows of the West, Or toward the peopled cities set your face. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SPRING, FR. SONGS OF INNOCENCE by WILLIAM BLAKE DEATH (1) by MAXWELL BODENHEIM THE RAILWAY TRAIN by EMILY DICKINSON JEST 'FORE CHRISTMAS by EUGENE FIELD SATIRES OF CIRCUMSTANCE: 3. BY HER AUNT'S GRAVE by THOMAS HARDY THE THREE TROOPERS DURING THE PROTECTORATE by GEORGE WALTER THORNBURY ETHELWALD, FR. METRICAL HISTORY OF ST. CUTHBERT by BEDE |