Here have our wild war-eagles flown, And flapped wide wings in fiery fight; But the sad dove, that sits alone In England - she hath no delight. In vain the laughing girl will lean To greet her love with love-lit eyes: Down in some treacherous black ravine, Clutching his flag, the dead boy lies. And many a moon and sun will see The lingering wistful children wait To climb upon their father's knee; And in each house made desolate Pale women who have lost their lord Will kiss the relics of the slain - Some tarnished epaulette - some sword - Poor toys to soothe such anguished pain. For not in
...more
