 | Sonnets of the Wingless Hours |  |
81
ALL SOULS' DAY.
I.
All Souls' Day's wintry light is on the wane;
The Tuscan furrows darken deeper brown:
And still the sower, ever up and down,
Is hard at work, broad scattering his grain:
The Tuscan furrows darken deeper brown:
And still the sower, ever up and down,
Is hard at work, broad scattering his grain:
As since dim times, again and yet again
(Beginning with old nations scarcely known,
Pelasgi and Etruscans) he has thrown
His seed upon this old Italic plain.
(Beginning with old nations scarcely known,
Pelasgi and Etruscans) he has thrown
His seed upon this old Italic plain.
And what became of all those shadowy dead
Who sowed their wheat, built Cyclopean walls
And left their lives unwritten on man's scrolls?
Who sowed their wheat, built Cyclopean walls
And left their lives unwritten on man's scrolls?
Just what became of what they sowed for bread—
Of grain that breeds fresh grain that falls and falls:
Earth had their bones; and who shall find their souls?
Of grain that breeds fresh grain that falls and falls:
Earth had their bones; and who shall find their souls?
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