I cross Lincoln Park on a winter night when the snow is falling. Lincoln in bronze stands among the white lines of snow, his bronze forehead meeting soft echoes of the newsies crying forty thousand men are dead along the Yser, his bronze ears listening to the mumbled roar of the city at his bronze feet. A lithe Indian on a bronze pony, Shakespeare seated with long legs in bronze, Garibaldi in a bronze cape, they hold places in the cold, lonely snow to-night on their pedestals and so they will hold them past midnight and into the dawn. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: MRS. KESSLER by EDGAR LEE MASTERS THE WORLD AS WILL AND REPRESENTATION' by HAYDEN CARRUTH THE SACRAL DREAMS OF RAMON FERNANDEZ by JAMES GALVIN LOST ILLUSIONS by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON |