Edwin Markham
THE low-voiced girls that go In gardens of the Lord, Like flowers of the field they grow In sisterly accord. Their whispering feet are white Along the leafy ways; They go in whirls of
ONE night we were together, you and I, And had unsown Assyria for a lair, Before the walls of Babylon rose in air. How languid hills were heaped along the sky, And white bones
BOWED by the weight of centuries he leans Upon his hoe and gazes on the ground, The emptiness of ages in his face, And on his back the burden of the world. Who made
WHEN the Norn Mother saw the Whirlwind Hour Greatening and darkening as it hurried on, She left the Heaven of Heroes and came down To make a man to meet the mortal need. She
I LOOKED one night, and there the Semiramis, With all her mourning doves about her head, Sat rocking on an ancient road of Hell, Withered and eyeless, chanting to the moon Snatches of song