Classic Poem

Dead! stark dead in the long, strong grass!
But he died with his sword in his hand.
Who says it? who saw it? God saw it!
And I knew him! St. George! he would draw it,
Though they swooped down in mass
Till they darkened the land!
Then the seventeen wounds in his breast!
Ah! these witness best!

Dead! stark dead in the long, strong grass!
Dead! and alone in the great dark land!
O mother! not Empress now, mother!
A nobler name, too, than all other,
The laurel leaf fades from thy hand!
O mother that waiteth, a mass!
Masses and chants must be said,
And cypress, instead.