by John Delonas
I spied in a hidden glade
One autumn day,
Half hid by the ferns that dryly swayed,
And mold’rin’ leaves that softly laid
Over a child’s grave.
Behind the broken German wall, ivy pres’t,
Aeons past rustic hand
Laid to rest
The fever-blasted fruits of fruitful land;
How tenderly Placed the stone–
Then forgetful, they looked to the green Ohio.
How frightful to be so alone!
Did your short span
Take in the wild beauty
And see in smoking time by ruddy fire
America’ s destiny, her course of empire?
Little colonial girl,
None will disturb thy sleep or break this sylvan lullaby,
My secret woodland pearl,
For America has passed you by.