Sagamore Poem by Corrine Roosevelt Robinson

At Sagamore the Chief lies low
Above the hill in circled row
The whirring airplanes dip and fly,
A guard of honor from the sky;-
Eagles to guard the Eagle. Woe
Is on the world. The people go
With listless footstep, blind and slow;-
For one is dead who shall not die-
At Sagamore.

Oh! Land he loved, at last you know
The son who served you well below,
The prophet voice, the visioned eye.
Hold him in ardent memory,
For one is gone who shall not go-
From Sagamore!