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Home  »  The New Poetry  »  The Palatine

Harriet Monroe, ed. (1860–1936). The New Poetry: An Anthology. 1917.

The Palatine

By Willa Sibert Cather

“HAVE you been with the King to Rome,

Brother, big brother?”

“I’ve been there and I’ve come home.

Back to your play, little brother.”

“Oh, how high is Cæsar’s house,

Brother, big brother?”

“Goats about the doorways browse;

Night-hawks nest in the burnt roof-tree.

Home of the wild bird and home of the bee,

A thousand chambers of marble lie

Wide to the sun and the wind and the sky.

Poppies we find amongst our wheat

Grow on Cæsar’s banquet seat.

Cattle crop and neat-herds drowse

On the floors of Cæsar’s house.”

“But what has become of Cæsar’s gold,

Brother, big brother?”

“The times are bad and the world is old—

Who knows the where of the Cæsar’s gold?

Night comes black o’er the Cæsar’s hill;

The wells are deep and the tales are ill;

Fireflies gleam in the damp and mold—

All that is left of the Cæsar’s gold.

Back to your play, little brother.”

“What has become of the Cæsar’s men,

Brother, big brother?”

“Dogs in the kennel and wolf in the den

Howl for the fate of the Cæsar’s men,

Slain in Asia, slain in Gaul,

By Dacian border and Persian wall.

Rhineland orchard and Danube fen

Fatten their roots on Cæsar’s men.”

“Why is the world so sad and wide,

Brother, big brother?”

“Saxon boys by their fields that bide

Need not know if the world is wide.

Climb no mountain but Shere-end Hill,

Cross no water but goes to mill.

Ox in the stable and cow in the byre,

Smell of the wood-smoke and sleep by the fire;

Sun-up in seed-time—a likely lad

Hurts not his head that the world is sad.

Back to your play, little brother.”