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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=532714" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Our Mother Pocahontas</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">(Note: — Pocahontas is buried at Gravesend, England.)</div><div style="margin:10px 0">&quot;Pocahontas' body, lovely as a poplar, sweet as a red haw in November or a pawpaw in May — did she wonder? does she remember — in the dust — in the cool tombs?&quot; </div><div style="margin:10px 0">CARL SANDBURG. </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>I</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Powhatan was conqueror,<br>Powhatan was emperor.<br>He was akin to wolf and bee,<br>Brother of the hickory tree.<br>Son of the red lightning stroke<br>And the lightning-shivered oak.<br>His panther-grace bloomed in the maid<br>Who laughed among the winds and played<br>In excellence of savage pride,<br>Wooing the forest, open-eyed,<br>In the springtime,<br>In Virginia,<br>Our Mother, Pocahontas.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Her skin was rosy copper-red.<br>And high she held her beauteous head.<br>Her step was like a rustling leaf:<br>Her heart a nest, untouched of grief.<br>She dreamed of sons like Powhatan,<br>And through her blood the lightning ran.<br>Love-cries with the birds she sung,<br>Birdlike<br>In the grape-vine swung.<br>The Forest, arching low and wide<br>Gloried in its Indian bride.<br>Rolfe, that dim adventurer<br>Had not come a courtier.<br>John Rolfe is not our ancestor.<br>We rise from out the soul of her<br>Held in native wonderland,<br>While the sun's rays kissed her hand,<br>In the springtime,<br>In Virginia,<br>Our Mother, Pocahontas.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>II</div><div style="margin:10px 0">She heard the forest talking,<br>Across the sea came walking,<br>And traced the paths of Daniel Boone,<br>Then westward chased the painted moon.<br>She passed with wild young feet<br>On to Kansas wheat,<br>On to the miners' west,<br>The echoing cañons' guest,<br>Then the Pacific sand,<br>Waking,<br>Thrilling,<br>The midnight land....</div><div style="margin:10px 0">On Adams street and Jefferson —<br>Flames coming up from the ground!<br>On Jackson street and Washington —<br>Flames coming up from the ground!<br>And why, until the dawning sun<br>Are flames coming up from the ground?<br>Because, through drowsy Springfield sped<br>This red-skin queen, with feathered head,<br>With winds and stars, that pay her court<br>And leaping beasts, that make her sport;<br>Because, gray Europe's rags august<br>She tramples in the dust;<br>Because we are her fields of corn;<br>Because our fires are all reborn<br>From her bosom's deathless embers,<br>Flaming<br>As she remembers<br>The springtime<br>And Virginia,<br>Our Mother, Pocahontas.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>III</div><div style="margin:10px 0">We here renounce our Saxon blood.<br>Tomorrow's hopes, an April flood<br>Come roaring in. The newest race<br>Is born of her resilient grace.<br>We here renounce our Teuton pride:<br>Our Norse and Slavic boasts have died:<br>Italian dreams are swept away,<br>And Celtic feuds are lost today....</div><div style="margin:10px 0">She sings of lilacs, maples, wheat,<br>Her own soil sings beneath her feet,<br>Of springtime<br>And Virginia,<br>Our Mother, Pocahontas.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Vachel+Lindsay">Vachel Lindsay</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=532714" data-title="Our Mother Pocahontas de Vachel Lindsay" data-description="(Note: — Pocahontas is buried at Gravesend, England.)

&quot;Pocahontas' body, lovely as a poplar, sweet as a red haw in November or a pawpaw in May — did she wonder? does she remember — in the dust — in the cool tombs?&quot; 

CARL SANDBU..."></div>
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