DEAD, with their eyes to the foe, Dead, with the foe at their feet; Under the sky laid low Truly their slumber is sweet, Though the wind from the Camp of the Slain Men blow, And the rain on the wilderness beat. Dead, for they chose to die When that wild race was run; Dead, for they would not fly, Deeming their work undone, Nor cared to look on the face of the sky, Nor loved the light of the sun. Honor we give them and tears, And the flag they died to save, Rent from the raid of the spears, Wet from the war and the wave, Shall waft men's thoughts through the dust of the years, Back to their lonely grave! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...MUSIC IN THE NIGHT by HARRIET PRESCOTT SPOFFORD THE FIGHT WITH THE SNAPPING TURTLE; OR, THE AMERICAN ST. GEORGE by WILLIAM EDMONSTOUNE AYTOUN ON A SWEARING COXCOMB by ROBERT BURNS PLANTING CORN IN VERMONT by DANIEL LEAVENS CADY SONGS OF THE SEA CHILDREN: 78 by BLISS CARMAN TO A TERRIER by PATRICK REGINALD CHALMERS |