Richard Realf Poems

Day in, day out, through the long campaign,
I march in my place in the ranks;
And whether it shine or whether It rain
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The swift years bring but slow development
Of the world’s majesty; for Freedom is
Born grandly, as a solid continent,
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O Earth! Thou hast not any wind that blows
Which is not music; every weed of thine
Pressed rightly flows in aromatic wine;
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This poet was very wealthy. If he missed
Worlds’ honors, and worlds’ plaudits, and the wage
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By the waters of Life we sat together,
Hand in hand in the golden days
Of the beautiful early summer weather,
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Straight to his heart the bullet crushed;
Down from his breast the red blood gushed,
And o'er his face a glory rushed.
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When for me this end has come and I am dead,
and the little voluble, chattering daws of men
peck at me curiously, let it then be said
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Fair are the flowers and the children, but their subtle suggestion is fairer;
Rare is the rose-burst of dawn, but the secret that clasps it is
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A dreaming Poet lay upon the ground,
He plucked the grasses with his listless hands.
No voice was near him save the wishful sound
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This sweet child which hath climbed upon my knee,
This amber-haired, four-summered little maid,
With her unconscious beauty troubleth me,
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