TRAMP squares with rebellious treading! Up heads! As proud peaks be seen! In the second flood we are spreading Every city on earth will be clean. Pied days plod. Slowly the years' waggons come. Speed's our god. Hearts are beating a drum. What gold is than ours diviner? Can the waspy bullets sting? Than our songs no weapons are finer. Our gold is in shouts that ring. Green let the grass grow, Covering days past. Rainbow, gleam, glow. Let galloping years travel fast. Do not look to the stars or bother; Without them our singing shall blow. Oh, ask, Great Bear, our mother, That alive to the stars we go! Drink of delight! Drink! Shout! Veins with the spring-flood thrumming. Hearts up! Strike out! Our breasts are brass cymbals drumming. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...OZYMANDIAS REVISITED by MORRIS GILBERT BISHOP THE FLESH AND THE SPIRIT by ANNE BRADSTREET MY LADY'S TEARS by JOHN DOWLAND THE LAY OF THE LABOURER by THOMAS HOOD THE LOVER COMFORTETH HIMSELF WITH THE WORTHINESS OF HIS LOVE by HENRY HOWARD |