Classic Poem

This block of silent grief
Mark, traveller, as you pass!
Here, for our hearts' relief,
We raised this pile of stone
To tell how, as mown grass,
Our friends, our children died.
This is our silent groan,
Our silent pride.

For pomp in praise of war
Go hence the signs to see;
Here only we deplore
Our youth untimely slain.
A host, they died that we
Might learn the ways of peace:
Might make their loss our gain,
And wars to cease.

Too deep, too vast our loss
Aught else to celebrate;
We had no power to gloss
This magnitude of death.
A multitude so great
Never in battle fell;
They drew heroic breath,
Let these stones tell.