Classic Poem

Here they have raised a shaft of granite
Beside the gray, impassive river,
A slender phrase of bronze and stone.
For here, in years long dimmed and gone,
Men fought and died beside the river
For an old myth of pride and glory,
And here they carved the myth in stone
That other men might know their story
And keep their dream alight forever.

The winds of many a dark November
Have set their teeth upon the granite,
And the myth they reared in stone
Who bothers longer to remember?
Glory and pride and myth are gone,
And in a little sheaf of days
The stone will lie forgotten, broken.
There will be other men to raise
New myths of wonder and amaze
Beside the reticent gray river,
To hew their dreams in bronze and granite
Till they are dust that leaves no token.

And the gray, ironic river
Will watch them pass as others passed,
Myth upon brighter myth, at last—
Prophet and oracle unheard—
Sinking to dust that none remembers,
Save the gray, impassive river
That sees them pass, and has no word.