WHEN @3winter trees bestrew the path, Still to the twig a leaf or twain Will cling and weep, not Winter's wrath, But that foreknown, forlorner pain— To fall when green leaves come again!@1 I watch'd him sleep by the furrow— The first that fell in the fight. His grave they would dig to-morrow: The battle called them to-night. They bore him aside to the trees, there, By his undigg'd grave content To lie on his shoulders at ease there, And hark how the battle went. The battle went by the village, And back through the night were borne Far cries of murder and pillage, With smoke from the standing corn. But when they came on the morrow, They talk'd not over their task, As he listen'd there by the furrow; For the dead mouth could not ask— @3How went the battle, my brothers?@1 But that he will never know: For his mouth the red earth smothers As they shoulder their spades and go. Yet he cannot sleep thereunder, But ever must toss and turn. @3How went the battle, I wonder?@1 —And that he will never learn! @3When winter trees bestrew the path, Still to the twig a leaf or twain Will cling and weep, not Winter's wrath, But that foreknown, forlorner pain— To fall when green leaves come again!@1 |