(Killed in action July 31, 1917) Nevermore singing Will you go now, Wearing wild moonlight On your brow. The moon's white mood In your silver mind Is all forgotten. Words of wind From off the hedgerow After rain, You do not hear them; They are vain. There is a linnet Craves a song, And you returning Before long. Now who will tell her, Who can say On what great errand You are away? You whose kindred Were hills of Meath, Who sang the lane-rose From her sheath, What voice will cry them The grief at dawn Or say to the blackbird You are gone? | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...CALDWELL OF SPRINGFIELD [JUNE 23, 1780] by FRANCIS BRET HARTE IN YOUTH IS PLEASURE by ROBERT WEVER FELDMESTEN OR MEASURING THE GRAVES by ALTER ABELSON THE BLACKBIRD by WILLIAM BARNES THE WIFE'S SONG by ERNEST BENSHIMOL |