In silence gather near this upheaved mound –
Around the soldier’s bier.
Here Liberty may weep,
And Freedom pause in her unchecked career,
To pay the sacred tribute of a tear
O’er the pale warrior’s sleep.
That arm now cold in death,
But late on glory’s field triumphant bore
Our country’s flag; that marble brow once bore
The victor’s fadeless wreath.
Rest soldier, sweetly rest;
Affection’s gentle hand shall deck thy tomb
With flowers and chaplets of unfading bloom
Be laid upon thy breast.
They cut down the trees, and they build;They work always – building.From the elevation of the mountainsideI behold the clouds:The clouds build many beautiful houses in the sky:They build, and they tear down;They build, and they dissolve. . . .The cities of white men,They are not beautiful like the cloud cities;They are not vast, like…
And the winds and the birds and the limpid brook,Murmur their dreams with a drowsy sound;Who lies so still in the plushy moss,With his pale cheek pressed on a breezy pillow,Couched where the light and the shadow cross.Through the flickering fringe of the willow?Who lies, alas!So still, so chill, in the whispering grass?A soldier clad…
I don’t want to go in the trenches no more,Where whizz-bangs and shrapnel they whistle and roar.Take me over the seaWhere the Alleyman can’t get at me.Oh my,I don’t want to die,I want to go home.
Of Litell Johnn, that was the knighes man,Goode myrth ye shall here.It was upon a mery dayThat yonge men wolde go shete;Lytell Johnn fet his bowe anone,And sayde he wolde them mete.Thre tymes Litell Johnn shet aboute,And alwey he slet the wande;The proud sherif of NotinghamBy the marks can stande.The sherif swore a full greate…
And waly waly yon burn-sideWhere I and my Love wont to gae!I leant my back unto an aik,I thought it was a trusty tree;But first it bow’d, and syne it brak,Sae my true Love did lichtly me.O waly waly, but love be bonnyA little time while it is new;But when ’tis auld, it waxeth cauldAnd…
Whipp’d with the whip that scourged me:And now they ban that they were born.I see them sit full soberlyAnd think their earnest looks to hide;Now, in themselves, they cannot spyThat they or this in me have spied.I see them sitting all alone,Marking the steps, each word and look;And now they tread where I have gone,The…
