@3Raving war, begot In the thirsty sands Of the Libyan Isles, Wastes our empty fields; What the greedy rage Of fell wintry storms Could not turn to spoil, Fierce Bellona now Hath laid desolate, Void of fruit, or hope. Th' eager thrifty hind, Whose rude toil revived Our sky-blasted earth, Himself is but earth, Left a scorn to fate Through seditious arms: And that soil, alive Which he duly nurst, Which him duly fed, Dead his body feeds: Yet not all the glebe His tough hands manured Now one turf affords His poor funeral. Thus still needy lives, Thus still needy dies Th' unknown multitude.@1 | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...LINES FROM A PLUTOCRATIC POETASTER TO A DITCH-DIGGER by FRANKLIN PIERCE ADAMS AN EXPATIATION ON THE COMBINING OF WEATHERS AT THIRTY .... by HAYDEN CARRUTH THE SMALLISH SON by HAYDEN CARRUTH WESTERN CIVILIZATION by JAMES GALVIN DELUSION by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON FLUTE-PRIEST SONG FOR RAIN; CEREMONIAL AT THE SUN SPRING by AMY LOWELL |