THE GRIEF OF OTHERS by WILLIAM HENRY DAVIES

ONCE more I see the happy young
Broken by grief and pain;
That tears have made like earth's red worms
Turned white by days of rain.
Once more I see the new-made wife
From her dead husband torn;
When down she sits and weeps, and laughs,
And rocks her babe unborn.
And when I see a hearse that takes
A coffin through the town,
Or pass the quiet house of death,
That has its blinds drawn down --
Such pity moves me for the dear
Ones left to mourn behind,
That I am glad my loves are dreams
Made purely of the mind:
That take expression for their grave,
When they have served their hour;
And I create a younger brood
To charm me with new power.

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