So many men, on such a date of May, Despaired and took their hopeless lives away In such an area, year after year; In such another place, it would appear The assassinations averaged so and so, Through August after August, scarce below A given range; and in another one, March after March, it seems there were undone So many women still about the same, With little varying circumstance in their shame; Burglaries, arsons, thefts, and forgeries Had their own averages as well as these; And from these figures science can discern The future in the past. We but return Upon our steps, although they seem so free. The thing that has been is that which shall be. Dark prophet, yes! But still somehow the round Is spiral, and the race's feet have found The path rise under them which they have trod. Your facts are facts, yet somewhere there is God. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE YOUNG BROTHER by WILLIAM ROSE BENET MAD WIND by CATHERINE BRADSHAW PILGRIM MOTHERS by ABBIE FARWELL BROWN THE SHEPHERD'S PIPE: DEDICATION TO EDWARD, LORD ZOUCH by WILLIAM BROWNE (1591-1643) OF ONE AFFLICTED WITH DEAFNESS by RICHARD EUGENE BURTON LIFE PASSES ON by MARIANNE CLARKE MOLLY MAGUIRE AT MONMOUTH by WILLIAM COLLINS (1875-) |