Lament

Here in my garden where the tulips grow I walk alone; Dim are my eyes with tears, my feet are slow My heart is stone; Though all the lovely earth again for me New sweetness yields It matters not,--only the dead I see On battlefields.

Only the dead I see,--and strangely bright Their faces shine As though the God of Glory in the night Had made them fine. Place for the victors! Stoop my soul to touch Their tunics hem,-- 'Tis those they loved who need tears overmuch O weep for them!