Not long did we lie on the torn, red field of pain. We fell, we lay, we slumbered, we took rest, With the wild nerves quiet at last, and the vexed brain Cleared of the winged nightmares, and the breast Freed of the heavy dreams of hearts afar. We rose at last under the morning star. We rose, and greeted our brothers, and welcomed our foes. We rose; like the wheat when the wind is over, we rose. With shouts we rose, with gasps and incredulous cries, With bursts of singing, and silence, and awestruck eyes, With broken laughter, half tears, we rose from the sod, With welling tears and with glad lips, whispering, "God." Like babes, refreshed from sleep, like children, we rose, Brimming, with deep content, from our dreamless repose. And "What do you call it?" asked one. "I thought I was dead." "You are," cried another. "We're all of us dead and flat." "I'm alive as a cricket. There's something wrong with your head." They stretched their limbs and argued it out where they sat. And over the wide field friend and foe Spoke of small things, remembering not old woe Of war and hunger, hatred and fierce words. They sat and listened to the brooks and birds, And watched the starlight perish in pale flame, Wondering what God would look like when He came. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SPRING DAY: NIGHT AND SLEEP by AMY LOWELL NIGHTS WITHOUT SLEEP by SARA TEASDALE GUILIELMUS REX by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH ODE TO TRANQUILLITY by SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE YOUR HANDS by ANGELINA WELD GRIMKE TO ALFRED TENNYSON by WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR THE NYMPH COMPLAINING FOR THE DEATH OF HER FAUN [OR, FAWN] by ANDREW MARVELL |