Archibald Higbie
Edgar Lee Masters 1868 (Garnett) – 1950 (Elkins Park)
I loathed you, Spoon River. I tried to rise above you,
I was ashamed of you. I despised you
As the place of my nativity.
And there in Rome, among the artists,
Speaking Italian, speaking French,
I seemed to myself at times to be free
Of every trace of my origin.
I seemed to be reaching the heights of art
And to breathe the air that the masters breathed,
And to see the world with their eyes.
But still they'd pass my work and say:
"What are you driving at, my friend?
Sometimes the face looks like Apollo's
At others it has a trace of Lincoln's."
There was no culture, you know, in Spoon River,
And I burned with shame and held my peace.
And what could I do, all covered over
And weighted down with western soil,
Except aspire, and pray for another
Birth in the world, with all of Spoon River
Rooted out of my soul?
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Submitted on May 13, 2011
Modified on March 05, 2023
- 48 sec read
- 84 Views
Quick analysis:
Scheme | AABCDBEFGHIJKLMNMOMMP |
---|---|
Closest metre | Iambic pentameter |
Characters | 804 |
Words | 161 |
Stanzas | 1 |
Stanza Lengths | 21 |
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"Archibald Higbie" Poetry.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2024. Web. 23 Apr. 2024. <https://www.poetry.com/poem/8511/archibald-higbie>.
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