And at the last
Flowers for the graves of those whose fight was done.
She heard the tramping of ten thousand feet
As the long line swept round the crowded square;
She heard the incessant hum
That filled the warm and blossom-scented air,
The shrilling fife, the roll and throb of drum,
The happy laugh, the cheer,-Oh glorious and meet
To honor thus the dead,
Who chose the better part
And for their country bled!
-The dead! Great God! she stood there in the street,
Living, yet dead in soul and mind and heart-
While far away
His grave was decked with flowers by strangers' hands
to-day.
O day of roses and regret,
Kissing the old graves of our own!
Not to the slain love's lovely debt
Alone;
But jealous hearts that live and ache
Remember, and while drums are mute,
Beneath your banners' bright outbreak,
Salute: