 | War-lyrics and other poems |  |
MIDNIGHT—A LAMENT.
Do the dead carry their cares,
Like us, to the place of rest?
The long, long night—is it theirs,
Weary to brain and breast?
Ah, that I knew how it fares
With One that I loved the best!
Like us, to the place of rest?
The long, long night—is it theirs,
Weary to brain and breast?
Ah, that I knew how it fares
With One that I loved the best!
I lie alone in the house.
How the wretched North-wind raves!
I listen, and think of those
O'er whose heads the wet grass waves—
Do they hear the wind that blows,
And the rain on their lonely graves?
How the wretched North-wind raves!
I listen, and think of those
O'er whose heads the wet grass waves—
Do they hear the wind that blows,
And the rain on their lonely graves?
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Heads that I helped to lay
On the pillow that lasts for aye.
It is but a little way
To the dreary hill where they lie—
No bed but the cold, cold clay—
No roof but the stormy sky.
On the pillow that lasts for aye.
It is but a little way
To the dreary hill where they lie—
No bed but the cold, cold clay—
No roof but the stormy sky.
Cruel the thought and vain!
They've now nothing more to bear—
Done with sickness and pain,
Done with trouble and care—
But I hear the wind and the rain,
And still I think of them there.
They've now nothing more to bear—
Done with sickness and pain,
Done with trouble and care—
But I hear the wind and the rain,
And still I think of them there.
Ah, couldst thou come to me,
Bird that I loved the best!
That I knew it was well with thee—
Wild and weary North-West!
Wail in chimney and tree—
Leave the dead to their rest.
Bird that I loved the best!
That I knew it was well with thee—
Wild and weary North-West!
Wail in chimney and tree—
Leave the dead to their rest.
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