Manibus date lilia plenis
Mid the flower-wreath'd tombs I stand
Bearing lilies in my hand.
Comrades! In what soldier-grave
Sleeps the bravest of the brave?
Is it he who sank to rest
With his colors round his breast?
Friendship makes his tomb a shrine;
Garlands veil it; ask not mine.
One low grave, yon trees beneath,
Bears no roses, wears no wreath;
Yet no heart more high and warm
Ever dared the battle-storm.
Never gleamed a prouder eye
In the front of victory,
Never foot had firmer tread
On the field where hope lay dead,
Than are hid within this tomb,
Where the untended grasses bloom;
And no stone, with feign'd distress,
Mocks the sacred loneliness.
Youth and beauty, dauntless will,
Dreams that life could ne'er fulfill,
Here lie buried; here in peace
Wrongs and woes have found release.
Turning from my comrades'eyes,
Kneeling where a woman lies,
I strew lilies on the grave
Of the bravest of the brave.
Ultimi argomenti inseriti
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