SOLDIERS' GRAVES
I
About tall headstones where the grass growing,
The flowers of spring are fair,—
Just the handful the month is blowing,
Not a red rose among them all,
Only the wild-flowers fine and small,
Which faithful hands brought there.
The flowers of spring are fair,—
Just the handful the month is blowing,
Not a red rose among them all,
Only the wild-flowers fine and small,
Which faithful hands brought there.
Over the nameless graves that are lying
Under the southern sun,
Perhaps no tender soul with sighing
Drops leaf or blossom or spray;
But Nature herself makes holiday,
Remembering every one.
Under the southern sun,
Perhaps no tender soul with sighing
Drops leaf or blossom or spray;
But Nature herself makes holiday,
Remembering every one.
II
O blossoming-time, make no delay
Paint the swift hours the while they stay,
Let catkins of the willow lead
The way for each fair flowering weed,
The strange blooms of the cornel-tree
The scarlet of the maple key,
Let leaf and bud and grass betray
That April brightens into May!
With flags the watery ways enrich,
Plant the great trillium in its niche,
Deep in the tangled woods awhile
Let the pale may-flower shyly smile.
Hasten from out your beds of mould
O sweet spring blossoms with your gold,
And lend your sweetness and your bloom
To gild the shadow of the tomb.
Paint the swift hours the while they stay,
Let catkins of the willow lead
The way for each fair flowering weed,
The strange blooms of the cornel-tree
The scarlet of the maple key,
Let leaf and bud and grass betray
That April brightens into May!
With flags the watery ways enrich,
Plant the great trillium in its niche,
Deep in the tangled woods awhile
Let the pale may-flower shyly smile.
Hasten from out your beds of mould
O sweet spring blossoms with your gold,
And lend your sweetness and your bloom
To gild the shadow of the tomb.
45
