There's music in the measured tread Of those returning from the dead Like scattered flowers from a plain So lately crimson, with the slain. No more the sound of shuffled feet Shall mark the poltroon on the street, Nor shifting, sodden, downcast eye Reveal the man afraid to die. They shall have paid full, utterly The price of peace across the sea, When, with uplifted glance, they come To claim a kindly welcome home. Nor shall the old-time daedal sting Of prejudice, their manhood wing, Nor heights, nor depths, nor living streams Stand in the pathway of their dreams! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE WHITE WITCH by JAMES WELDON JOHNSON MY BOY by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON TUNK (A LECTURE ON MODERN EDUCATION) by JAMES WELDON JOHNSON ATELIER CEZANNE by CLARENCE MAJOR APOLLO AT LAX by KAREN SWENSON TO BE CLOSELY WRITTEN ON A SMALL PIECE OF PAPER by WILLIAM CARLOS WILLIAMS |