To A Dead Soldier



Through all the primrose paths of morning called
Your feet to follow them, and all the winds
Of all the hills of earth, with plucking hands
Wooed you to slopes that shone like emerald,
You might not go. The thin green grass that binds
Your feet had Earth and Death to forge its bands.

The rain's wet kiss is on your lips, where lay
Once the live pulses of a woman's soul;
Your eyes give back unto the quiet sky
Only the sheen of stars, the glare of day,
Or darkness when the kindly shadows roll
Up from the sea to hide you where you lie.

No woman's whisper holds your strong heart spent
And breathless. All the silver horns that blew
While legions cheered, are still. These things are done,
But these you have: a death for monument,
And peace you died to buy, and after you
The laughing play of children in the sun.

Kendall Harrison