With twisted arms stretched to relentless sun On this bleak terrain, panting in the dry Expanse of scorching sand, I lift my cry To spiteful desert gods who, mocking, shun My plea with brazen laughter. I am one Martyred by drouth while torrid fates deny My hungry veins their sap, and I shall die Stark and distorted when my span is done. Sometimes I dream that I have known a day When my starved roots drank of a sparkling, deep, Cool river; when my head was laved by rain That on my happy leaves in blessing lay... Then dawn's red furnace opens, blasts my sleep -- I wake! ...to writhe in ancient, thirsting pain! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THERE WAS A CHILD WENT FORTH by WALT WHITMAN THE VOW OF WASHINGTON by JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER THE BEAUTIFUL LAND OF NOD by ELLA WHEELER WILCOX VARIUM ET MUTABILE by THOMAS WYATT EMBLEMS OF LOVE: 34. TRUE LOVE KNOWS BUT ONE by PHILIP AYRES STANZAS TO WILLIAM ROSCOE, ESQ. by BERNARD BARTON VERSES ON SEEING IN AN ALBUM A SKETCH OF AN OLD GATEWAY by BERNARD BARTON TOWARDS DEMOCRACY: PART 2. IN THE DRAWING ROOMS by EDWARD CARPENTER |