In Exile
Use Tab to move through poem lines. Press Enter or Space to select a line. Hold Shift while selecting a second line to create a shared range.
- Twilight is here, soft breezes bow the grass,
- Day's sounds of various toil break slowly off,
- The yoke-freed oxen low, the patient ass
- Dips his dry nostril in the cool, deep trough.
- Up from the prairie the tanned herdsmen pass
- With frothy pails, guiding with voices rough
- Their udder-lightened kine. Fresh smells of earth,
- The rich, black furrows of the glebe send forth.
- After the Southern day of heavy toil,
- How good to lie, with limbs relaxed, brows bare
- To evening's fan, and watch the smoke-wreaths coil
- Up from one's pipe-stem through the rayless air.
- So deem these unused tillers of the soil,
- Who stretched beneath the shadowing oak tree, stare
- Peacefully on the star-unfolding skies,
- And name their life unbroken paradise.
- The hounded stag that has escaped the pack,
- And pants at ease within a thick-leaved dell;
- The unimprisoned bird that finds the track
- Through sun-bathed space, to where his fellows dwell;
- The martyr, granted respite from the rack,
- The death-doomed victim pardoned from his cell,--
- Such only know the joy these exiles gain,--
- Life's sharpest rapture is surcease of pain.
- Strange faces theirs, wherethrough the Orient sun
- Gleams from the eyes and glows athwart the skin.
- Grave lines of studious thought and purpose run
- From curl-crowned forehead to dark-bearded chin.
- And over all the seal is stamped thereon
- Of anguish branded by a world of sin,
- In fire and blood through ages on their name,
- Their seal of glory and the Gentiles' shame.
- Freedom to love the law that Moses brought,
- To sing the songs of David, and to think
- The thoughts Gabirol to Spinoza taught,
- Freedom to dig the common earth, to drink
- The universal air--for this they sought
- Refuge o'er wave and continent, to link
- Egypt with Texas in their mystic chain,
- And truth's perpetual lamp forbid to wane.
- Hark! through the quiet evening air, their song
- Floats forth with wild sweet rhythm and glad refrain.
- They sing the conquest of the spirit strong,
- The soul that wrests the victory from pain;
- The noble joys of manhood that belong
- To comrades and to brothers. In their strain
- Rustle of palms and Eastern streams one hears,
- And the broad prairie melts in mist of tears.
Selected passage
Choose a line range to generate a quote card.
Quote card preview