WHEN you are standing at your hero's grave, Or near some homeless village where he died, Remember, through your heart's rekindling pride, The German soldiers who were loyal and brave. Men fought like brutes; and hideous things were done; And you have nourished hatred, harsh and blind. But in that Golgotha perhaps you'll find The mothers of the men who killed your son. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SQUIRE BOWLING GREEN by EDGAR LEE MASTERS SUMMER DAYS by WATHEN MARK WILKS CALL OEDIPUS AT COLONUS: OLD AGE by SOPHOCLES PEARLS OF THE FAITH: 48. AL-WADOOD by EDWIN ARNOLD ANNE HATHAWAY'S GARDEN by AMELIA JOSEPHINE BURR FISHING by MAXWELL STRUTHERS BURT |