SOME sing among the trumpets in the fray -- Such breathless glory hers might never be; Her heart and voice were all too gentle-gray For such high psalmody. BUT she could croon a little child to sleep, And whisper in the twilight to a maid Who felt within her heart the springtime leap -- Half-joyous, half-afraid. SHE knew no ringing war-cry for the strong; Her voice no latent might to action charmed; But silent rallied to her soothing song The fallen, the disarmed. NOR rose nor laurel to her burial bring -- Above her let the green sod simply close. Some day, from that forgotten mound may spring A laurel -- or a rose. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SONNET: TO SLEEP by JOHN KEATS TOMORROW by FELIX LOPE DE VEGA CARPIO TO GIOVANNI DA PISTOIA ON THE PAINTING OF THE SISTINE CHAPEL, 1509 by MICHELANGELO BUONARROTI OH! BLAME NOT THE BARD by THOMAS MOORE VIGNETTES OVERSEAS: 5. NIGHT SONG AT AMALFI by SARA TEASDALE |