THE WATCHERS.
Beside a stricken field I stood;
On the torn turf, on grass and wood,
Hung heavily the dew of blood.
On the torn turf, on grass and wood,
Hung heavily the dew of blood.
Still in their fresh mounds lay the slain,
But all the air was quick with pain
And gusty sighs and tearful rain.
But all the air was quick with pain
And gusty sighs and tearful rain.
Two angels, each with drooping head
And folded wings and noiseless tread,
Watched by that valley of the dead.
And folded wings and noiseless tread,
Watched by that valley of the dead.
