 | Twilight Songs |  |
41
THE UNEMPLOYED.
The dead men to the living call:
Brothers of old, how goes the day?
Is there ripe fruit on the Southern wall
Rich with our blood that rot in clay?
Brothers of old, how goes the day?
Is there ripe fruit on the Southern wall
Rich with our blood that rot in clay?
Brothers of the great brotherhood,
Do they fling roses for your feet?
The living heard them where they stood
Idle, or trudged the pitiless street.
Do they fling roses for your feet?
The living heard them where they stood
Idle, or trudged the pitiless street.
Hopeless, unwanted. Brothers of old,
How go the song, the dance, the mirth?
So you are warm, we are not cold
Lapped in impenetrable earth.
How go the song, the dance, the mirth?
So you are warm, we are not cold
Lapped in impenetrable earth.
The Victors stand in the market-place,
And no man gives them wine or bread;
Would that we too had won that race
And earned the clay-cold rest! they said.
And no man gives them wine or bread;
Would that we too had won that race
And earned the clay-cold rest! they said.
But to the dead, who lie alone,
They answered; it is well; go sleep,
Never to know what we have known:
With dreams to keep; with dreams to keep!
They answered; it is well; go sleep,
Never to know what we have known:
With dreams to keep; with dreams to keep!
| Twilight Songs | |