'T IS like thy patient valour thus to keep, Great Kosciusko, to the rural shade, While freedom's ill-found amulet still is made Pretence for old aggression, and a heap Of selfish mockeries. There, as in the sweep Of stormier fields, thou earnest with thy blade, Transform'd, not inly alter'd, to the spade, Thy never-yielding right to a calm sleep. Nature, 't would seem, would leave to man's worse wit The small and noisier parts of this world's frame, And keep the calm green amplitudes of it Sacred from fopperies and inconstant blame. Cities may change, and sovereigns; but 't is fit, Thou, and the country old, be still the same. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A TRAMPWOMAN'S TRAGEDY by THOMAS HARDY THE CLERKS by EDWIN ARLINGTON ROBINSON AMERICA by SAMUEL FRANCIS SMITH LOOKING FORWARD by LAWRENCE ALMA-TADEMA PSALM 68 by OLD TESTAMENT BIBLE TWO SONNETS TO MY WIFE by MAXWELL BODENHEIM THE GREAT ELM by ROBERT SEYMOUR BRIDGES THE WANDERER: 2. IN FRANCE: AT HOME DURING THE BALL by EDWARD ROBERT BULWER-LYTTON |