Oct 302013
Against Time's dull entombment of the dream
Shall I shout no mad, damned syllable to protest?
Let me drain deathly Lethe's little dram,
Cold gift, that this heaviness might lift!
Long I rooted for the rebel rhyme,
Long dug up olden tales of patriot shades 
Who forged a Philly miracle in their time.
Minute Men who assembled dusty laws
(Long words whose shadows yet abide)
Charmed no rhyme to rock to lullaby
An infant creature's ticking cradle,
Nor open a young boy's eyes to awe;
They gave no choral song to sing
With echoing loveliness on the lonely mountainside;
Our Blue Ridge valleys and Rocky vales
Echo naught of those old patriot tales;
No onward story among their aged seams repeats,
Nothing but blood is added to what was great.

Sorry, the comment form is closed at this time.