GAUNT in the midst of the prairie, She who was once so fair; Charred and rent are her garments, Heavy and dark like cerements; Silent, but round her the air Plaintively wails, "Miserere!" Proud like a beautiful maiden, Art-like from forehead to feet, Was she till pressed like a leman Close to the breast of the demon, Lusting for one so sweet, So were her shoulders laden. Friends she had, rich in her treasures: Shall the old taunt be true, -- Fallen, they turn their cold faces, Seeking new wealth-gilded places, Saying we never knew Aught of her smiles or her pleasures? Silent she stands on the prairie, Wrapped in her fire-scathed sheet: Around her, thank God, is the Nation, Weeping for her desolation, Pouring its gold at her feet, Answering her "Miserere!" | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...GEORGE MOORE by MARIANNE MOORE THE ROSE AND THORN by PAUL HAMILTON HAYNE THE TROPHY GUNS by LEVI BISHOP F.B.C.; CHANCELLORSVILLE, MAY 3, 1863 by WILLIAM ALLEN BUTLER WASHINGTON by HEZEKIAH BUTTERWORTH SPRING AFTER THE WAR by PHOEBE CARY A POET'S HOPE by WILLIAM ELLERY CHANNING (1817-1901) THE CANTERBURY TALES: THE WIFE OF BATH'S PROLOGUE by GEOFFREY CHAUCER |