SOME sing among the trumpets in the fray -- Such breathless glory hers might never be; Her heart and voice were all too gentle-gray For such high psalmody. BUT she could croon a little child to sleep, And whisper in the twilight to a maid Who felt within her heart the springtime leap -- Half-joyous, half-afraid. SHE knew no ringing war-cry for the strong; Her voice no latent might to action charmed; But silent rallied to her soothing song The fallen, the disarmed. NOR rose nor laurel to her burial bring -- Above her let the green sod simply close. Some day, from that forgotten mound may spring A laurel -- or a rose. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...FAREWELL TO FARGO: SELLING THE HOUSE by KAREN SWENSON SYMPATHETIC PORTRAIT OF A CHILD by WILLIAM CARLOS WILLIAMS THE FAIR SINGER by ANDREW MARVELL WORLD-MILLER by FRANCES BARBER WALT WHITMAN by GEORGE BARLOW (1847-1913) |