Our fathers wrung their bread from stocks and stones <br />And fenced their gardens with the Redmen's bones; <br />Embarking from the Nether Land of Holland, <br />Pilgrims unhouseled by Geneva's night, <br />They planted here the Serpent's seeds of light; <br />And here the pivoting searchlights probe to shock <br />The riotous glass houses built on rock, <br />And candles gutter by an empty altar, <br />And light is where the landless blood of Cain <br />Is burning, burning the unburied grain.<br /><br />Robert Lowell<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/children-of-light/
