Tall stately plants with spikes and forks of gold Crowd every slope: my heart repeats its cry, A cry for strength, for strength and victory: The will to strive, the courage overbold That would have moved me once to turn indeed And level with the dust each lordly weed. But now I weep upon my wayside walks And sigh for those fair days, when glorying I stood a boy amid the mullein-stalks And wished myself like him the Lion King: There, where his shield shed arrows and his helm Rang like a bell beaten with axe and brand, He pushed the battle backward, realm on realm Fallen in the swordswing of his stormy hand. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...CONTRA MORTEM: THE WOMAN'S GENITALS by HAYDEN CARRUTH WHAT I'VE BELIEVED IN by JAMES GALVIN GETHSEMANE by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON POETRY by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON DOWN BY THE CARIB SEA: 6. SUNSET IN THE TROPICS by JAMES WELDON JOHNSON CHAMBER MUSIC: 35 by JAMES JOYCE |