The while these feebly dreamed and talked, Betwixt the brown earth and the heaven, Faint ghosts of men who breathed and walked, But deader than the dead ones even.
And out there on the middle height, They sought in pools for haunted faces, Nor heard the cry across the night, That swept from earth’s dread battle-places.
THE MOTHER.
I.
It was April, blossoming spring, They buried me, when the birds did sing;
Earth, in clammy wedging earth, They banked my bed with a black, damp girth.