Classic Poem

Thousands might die, and still to me it seem
But a dim troubled dream,
Wherein the hastened beating of my heart
Bare no profound pained part:
A visionary sorrow flying past!
It bides with me, at last.
For now that the fierce death hath taken him,
Now those brave eyes are dim
Evermore; now that evermore hath he
Left all he loved, and me;
Now that within the far-off earth he sleeps,
While wife, while mother, weeps:
My sorrow holds all sorrows by the hand,
At verge of death's gray land;
Into my heart the thousand dead I take
For his dear stricken sake;
They share with him, all his companion dead,
The tears I cannot shed,
The love that goes in silence: they and he
Seem as one friend, to me.