Arctic Epitaph, An
No grave more nobly graced,
No whiter pall than that which wraps the heads
Of those who sleep where the lone land outspreads
Its ice-bound waste.
These, Mother, were thy sons,
Brood of thy brood, whose seed by sea and land
Still man to-day, and in days gone have manned
Our English guns.
No mortal foe defied.
What Nature in her silent holds of snow
Hides from all outer ken, they strove to know,
And striving—died.
No whiter pall than that which wraps the heads
Of those who sleep where the lone land outspreads
Its ice-bound waste.
These, Mother, were thy sons,
Brood of thy brood, whose seed by sea and land
Still man to-day, and in days gone have manned
Our English guns.
No mortal foe defied.
What Nature in her silent holds of snow
Hides from all outer ken, they strove to know,
And striving—died.
Translation:
Language:
Reviews
No reviews yet.