Trees reached their hands to stay,
Whistled birds to me,
‘Spurn one, thou spurnest all,
Brother, let things be.
For not their heads alone
Bleed, but the stars fade
And all things grieve, for we
One fabric are made.’
The heavens and earth do meet
And all things are true,
So trample ye no flowers
Lest skies lose their blue.
Comrade, why do you weep?
Is it sorrow for a friend
Who fell, rifle in hand,
His proud stand at an end?
The harsh thunder-lipped guns
Roll his dirge deep and slow,
Where he makes his dreamless bed,
Head to head with a foe.
The sweet lark beats on high,
For the joy of those who sleep
In quiet embrace of earth.
Comrade, why do you weep?
The winds caress the trees,
Woman to man is led,
And I too have my love,
Though she comes not to bed.
Beyond the heat of flesh,
Which has its place and day,
We hold our keen delights
In spirit, earth away.