It's autumn in the country I remember How warm a wind blew here about the ways! And shadows on the hillside lay to slumber During the long sun-sweetened summer-days. It's cold abroad the country I remember. The swallows veering skimmed the golden grain At midday with a wing aslant and limber; And yellow cattle browsed upon the plain It's empty down the country I remember. I had a sister lovely in my sight: Her hair was dark, her eyes were very sombre; We sang together in the woods at night. It's lonely in the country I remember. The babble of our children fills my ears, And on our hearth I stare the perished ember To flames that show all starry thro' my tears. It's dark about the country I remember. There are the mountains where I lived. The path Is slushed with cattle-tracks and fallen timber, The stumps are twisted by the tempests' wrath. But that I knew these places are my own, I'd ask how came such wretchedness to cumber The earth, and I to people it alone. It rains across the country I remember.
Trumbull Stickney - 1874-1904
Now burst above the city’s cold twilight The piercing whistles and the tower-clocks: For day is done. Along the frozen docks The workmen set their ragged shirts aright. Thro’ factory doors a stream of dingy light Follows the scrimmage as it quickly flocks To hut and home among the snow’s gray blocks.— I love you, human labourers. Good-night! Good-night to all the blackened arms that ache! Good-night to every sick and sweated brow, To the poor girl that strength and love forsake, To the poor boy who can no more! I vow The victim soon shall shudder at the stake And fall in blood: we bring him even now.