Swift melting into yesterday, The tortured hordes of ebon-clay; No more is heard the plaintive strain, The rhythmic chaunting of their pain. Their mounded bodies dimly rise To fill the gulf of sacrifice, And o'er their silent hearts below The mantled millions softly go. Some few remaining still abide, Gnarled sentinels of time and tide, Now mellowed by a chastened glow Which lighter hearts will never know. Winding into the silent way, Spent with the travail of the day, So royal in their humble might These uncrowned Pilgrims of the Night! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A LITTLE BOY'S DREAM by KATHERINE MANSFIELD JAWEH AND ALLAH BATTLE by ALLEN GINSBERG MATER AMABILIS by EMMA LAZARUS THE SONG OF THE SHEPHERDS by EDWIN MARKHAM THE GREAT RACE PASSES by EDGAR LEE MASTERS |