This page has been validated.
THE UNKNOWN
237
To mother them! And then it all
Is blurred by the insistent tears!
THE UNKNOWN
I DO not understand...
They bring so many, many flowers to me—
Rainbows of roses, wreaths from every land;
And hosts of solemn strangers come to see
My tomb here on these quiet, wooded heights.
My tomb here seems to be
One of the sights.
The low-voiced men, who speak
Of me quite fondly, call me The Unknown:
But now and then at dusk, Madonna-meek,
Bent, mournful mothers come to me alone
And whisper down—the flowers and grasses through—
Such names as "Jim" and "John"...
I wish I knew.
And once my sweetheart came.
She did not—nay, of course she could not—know,
But thought of me, and crooned to me the name
