As a soul from whom companionships subside The meaningless and onsweeping tide Of the river hastening, as it would disown Old ways and places, left this stone Of sand above the valley, to look down Miles of the valley, hamlet, village, town. ***** It is a head-gear of a chief whose head, Down from the implacable brow, Waiting is held below The waters, feather decked With blossoms blue and red, With ferns and vines; Hiding beneath the waters, head erect, His savage eyes and treacherous designs.
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As a soul from whom companionships subside The meaningless and onsweeping tide Of the river hastening, as it would disown Old ways and places, left this stone Of sand above the valley, to look down Miles of the valley, hamlet, village, town. ***** It is a head-gear of a chief whose head, Down from the implacable brow, Waiting is held below The waters, feather decked With blossoms blue and red, With ferns and vines; Hiding beneath the waters, head erect, His savage eyes and treacherous designs.
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This could have been written today were there anyone with Masters' ability to write it.
Full of deep feelings of loss... his wife, his children, his health, his country, his world...
Using the tragic deaths of Native Americans at Starved Rock, near Utica , Illinois as his metaphor, Masters describes a loss of nature, a loss of innocence and a loss of the founding principles of our nation and the enlightenment through ignorance, superstition and demagoguery.
You will need to keep a search engine handy as his numerous allusions and allegories strain one's education and experience to keep up...