O SIRS, I have not seen him A hundred hundred years. 'Neath this rust rose he drooped his head Sleeping a hundred years. I slept: he stirred, but I slept on: O Sirs, and when I woke he'd gone. Even the worms could find him not: A hundred years they sought. Ants and bees a hundred years Travelling found him not. ... O Sirs, but like a bubble he Shone in his bright helm's bravery. As tall as trees he had a spear, And a horse like a hill; But when he slept he was as small As the blue stars, and as still. O Sirs, and will he with the stars Come back after a hundred years? Sleeping, I dreamed I saw him Ride slowly from long wars, Upon a white hill for a horse, Crowned with the silver stars. O then, single beneath the sky While I slept he rode slowly by. O Sirs, but had ye loved him Ye had caught him as he went. O were there kindness in these flowers Their kindness had they lent. None cared; all nodded, and I slept ... O Sirs, a hundred years I've wept. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SURFACES AND MASKS; 12 by CLARENCE MAJOR THEY SAY - . by JEAN STARR UNTERMEYER TO A FRIEND by JOHN GARDINER CALKINS BRAINARD BIRD AND BROOK by WILLIAM HENRY DAVIES THE FIRE OF DRIFTWOOD; DEVEREUX FARM, NEAR MARBLEHEAD by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW |