If culture had fluidity It would drip from her finger-tips like rain, And where it spattered there would be Indelible purple stain. If quietude had tongue what speech Would iterate above her head, What clamorous echoes would beseech Behind her quiet tread. But spent blood leaves no stain nor stir, Save in that art which marks her ways -- The background dead hands make for her With their defeated days. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...DISILLUSIONMENT OF TEN O'CLOCK by WALLACE STEVENS CROSSING BROOKLYN FERRY by WALT WHITMAN COMOS by ADRA CAROLINE BATCHELDER ELEGY by ROBERT SEYMOUR BRIDGES BALLAD OF THE UNSUCCESSFUL by RICHARD EUGENE BURTON |