With these we will cry to another, with these we will stand apart to lure some god to our city, to hail him: return from your brake, your copse or your forest haunt. O spirit still left to our city, we call to your wooded haunt, we cry: O daemon of grasses, O spirit of simples and roots, O gods of the plants of the earth -- O god of the simples and grasses, we cry to you now from our hearts, O heal us -- bring balm for our sickness, return and soothe us with bark and hemlock and feverwort. O god of the power to strike out memory of terror past, bring branch of heal-all and tufts, of the sweet and the bitter grass, bring shaft and flower of the reeds and cresses and meadow plants. Return -- look again on our city, though the people cry through the streets, though they hail another, have pity -- return to our gates, with a love as great as theirs, we entreat you for our city's sake. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...AN EVANGELIST'S WIFE by EDWIN ARLINGTON ROBINSON OLD MOTHERS by CHARLES SARSFIELD ROSS EN TOUR; A SONG SEQUENCE: 5. THE EXILE by ALBERTA BANCROFT LILIES: 14. THE AWAKING by GEORGE BARLOW (1847-1913) CLASS POEM by HARRY RANDOLPH BLYTHE LOVE AND HOPE by FRANCIS BROOKS |