The shadow of a poplar tree Lay in that lake of sun, As I with my little sword went in -- Against a thousand, one. Haughty, and infinitely armed, Insolent in their wrath, Plumed high with purple plumes they held The narrow meadow path. The air was sultry; all was still; The sun like flashing glass; And snip-snap my light-whispering steel In arcs of light did pass. Lightly and dull fell each proud head, Spiked keen without avail, Till swam my uncontented blade With ichor green and pale. And silence fell: the rushing sun Stood still in paths of heat, Gazing in waves of horror on The dead about my feet. Never a whir of wing, no bee Stirred o'er the shameful slain; Nought but a thirsty wasp crept in Stooped, and came out again. The very air trembled in fear; Eclipsing shadow seemed Rising in crimson waves of gloom -- On one who dreamed. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ON MY THIRTY-THIRD BIRTHDAY by GEORGE GORDON BYRON THE PHANTOM KISS by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR THE SCHRECKHORN by THOMAS HARDY SONNET: 42 by EDNA ST. VINCENT MILLAY THE CRADLE SONG OF THE POOR by ADELAIDE ANNE PROCTER THE GREAT SAINT BERNARD by SAMUEL ROGERS |