Out of the murky west Ten million swords of pain -- Oh, wind-tormented jest! Oh, mockery of bitter rain! These swirling clouds that blot the sky -- (Where now the long clean winds' far call?) But more than dust is riding high, And more than tears, this saffron pall! Low-winging game, the antelope -- I think I hear them round me pass; The herders' dream, the hunters' hope, And thrice ten million blades of grass! All is not silt the Furies fling! Crying in their grip -- I saw -- Freedom's estate -- a holy thing -- @3And the bones of a Kiowa@1! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...VALENTINES TO MY MOTHER: 1882 by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI FROM HIDDEN SOURCE by JEAN ANDERSON GETHSEMANE by MATILDA BARBARA BETHAM-EDWARDS OUR LADY by ROBERT SEYMOUR BRIDGES THE RAKE'S PROGRESS by CHARLES WILLIAM BRODRIBB |