O THE Poet of the Future! He will come to us as comes The beauty of the bugle's voice above the roar of drums -- The beauty of the bugle's voice above the roar and din Of battle-drums that pulse the time the victor marches in. His hands will hold no harp, in sooth; his lifted brow will bear No coronet of laurel -- nay, nor symbol anywhere, Save that his palms are brothers to the toiler's at the plow, His face to heaven, and the dew of duty on his brow. He will sing across the meadow, -- and the woman at the well Will stay the dripping bucket, with a smile ineffable; And the children in the orchard will gaze wistfully the way The happy songs come to them, with the fragrance of the hay; The barn will neigh in answer, and the pasture-lands behind Will chime with bells, and send responsive lowings down the wind; And all the echoes of the wood will jubilantly call In sweetest mimicry of that one sweet voice of all. O the Poet of the Future! He will come as man to man, With the honest arm of labor, and the honest face of tan, The honest heart of lowliness, the honest soul of love For human-kind and nature-kind about him and above. His hands will hold no harp, in sooth; his lifted brow will bear No coronet of laurel -- nay, nor symbol anywhere, Save that his palms are brothers to the toiler's at the plow, His face to heaven, and the dew of duty on his brow. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...FRAGMENT 113 by HILDA DOOLITTLE THE MOTHER-FAITH by EVERARD JACK APPLETON FINDING CYNTHIA IN PAIN, AND CRYING; A SONNET by PHILIP AYRES ECHOES OF SPRING: 10 by MATHILDE BLIND EGYPTIAN THEOSOPHY by MATHILDE BLIND THE VETERAN by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN THE END OF IT by AMELIA JOSEPHINE BURR |