I have come back to my mother's land— I was long, too long away. She shades her eyes with a blue-veined hand In the sunlit upland day And looks at my saddle, my horse, my gun— For my haunts were not the strown ... My Western mother has murmured, "Son!" So why am I called Unknown? I have come back to my mother's land, Where the yellow pine glades are; The cypress flutters, by breezes fanned, And the rose scent floats afar; There's a splash of oars on quiet streams, And a bright hued bird has flown Like those that colored my youthful dreams Ere they called me the Great Unknown. I have come back to my mother's land, Where the surf's like distant drums, And the fishing craft makes bright the strand And a kindly neighbor comes— For such is the way of the village folk When a woman is left alone ... It's of me they talk when she doffs her cloak, So why am I called Unknown? For I belong to them—Mothers All— From the seas to the plains of sage, From the hills that rock to the snowslide's fall To the desert gray-lined with age. And my tomb shall vibrate with messages All couched in that mother tone Which stirs the heart. Ah, then, who says That I have returned Unknown? | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SHUT OUT THAT MOON by THOMAS HARDY THE IDEA by AGNES MARY F. ROBINSON FOR SPRING, BY SANDRO BOTTICELLI by DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI THE VOICE OF THE RAIN by WALT WHITMAN ELEGIAC STANZAS by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH |