THEY reared no trophy o'er his grave. They bade no requiem flow; What left they there to tell the brave That a warrior sleeps below? A shivered spear, a cloven shield, A helm with its white plume torn, And a blood-stained turf on the fatal field, Where a chief to his rest was borne. He lies not where his fathers sleep, But who hath a tomb more proud? For the Syrian wilds his record keep, And a banner is his shroud. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE GREAT LOVER by RUPERT BROOKE THE FLIRT by WILLIAM HENRY DAVIES SING-SONG; A NURSERY RHYME BOOK: 97 by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI THE IMMORTALITY OF LOVE by ROBERT SOUTHEY HIS VICTORY by HARRY RANDOLPH BLYTHE |