BUT do we truly mourn our soldier dead, Or understand at all their precious fame -- We that were born too late to feel the flame That leapt from lowly hearths, and grew, dispread, And, like a pillar of fire, our armies led? Or you that knew them -- do the long years tame The memory-anguish? Are they more than name? Oh, let no stinted grief profane their bed! Let tears bedew each wreath that decks the lawn Of every grave! and raise a solemn prayer That their battalioned souls be joined to fare Dim roads, beyond the trumpets of the dawn, Yet perfumed, somehow, by our flowers that heap The peaceful barracks where their bodies sleep. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE PASSING OF THE EX-SLAVE by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON THE BALLAD OF PROSE AND RHYME by HENRY AUSTIN DOBSON IN THE CHURCHYARD AT CAMBRIDGE by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW SILENUS IN PROTEUS by THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES IN THE KING'S ENGLISH by BERTON BRALEY PROVERBIAL PHILOSOPHY: OF READING by CHARLES STUART CALVERLEY |