Classic Poem

They said of her, " She never can have felt
— — The sorrows that our deeper natures feel: "
They said, " Her placid lips have never spelt
— — Hard lessons taught by Pain; her eyes reveal
— — No passionate yearning, no perplexed appeal
To other eyes. Life and her heart have dealt
With her but lightly. " — When the Pilgrims dwelt
— — First on these shores, lest savage hands should steal
To precious graves with desecrating tread,
— — The burial-field was with the ploughshare crossed,
— — And there the maize her silken tresses tossed.
With thanks those Pilgrims ate their bitter bread,
— — While peaceful harvests hid what they had lost.
— — What if her smiles concealed from you her dead?