And the songs, with brave, sad face, Go proudly down their way, Wailing the loss of a conquered race And waiting an Easter-day. Away! away! like the birds, They soar in their flight sublime; And the waving wings of the poet's words Flash down to the end of time. When the flag of justice fails, Ere its folds have yet been furled, The poet waves its folds in wails That flutter o'er the world. Songs, march! and in rank by rank The low, wild verses go, To watch the graves where the grass is dank, And the martyrs sleep below. Songs! halt where there is no name! Songs! stay where there is no stone! And wait till you hear the feet of Fame Coming to where ye moan. And the songs, with lips that mourn, And with hearts that break in twain At the beck of the bard -- a hope forlorn -- Watch the plain where sleep the slain. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...DANTE by WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT A LITTLE CHRISTMAS BASKET by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR DIXIE by DANIEL DECATUR EMMETT POOR [OR, COCK] ROBIN by MOTHER GOOSE SEVEN SAD SONNETS: 4. SHE REMEMBERS by MARY REYNOLDS ALDIS |