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IT feels a shame to be Alive When men so brave are dead. One envies the distinguished Dust Permitted such a head;
The stone that tells defending Whom This Spartan put away What little of him we Possessed In pawn for liberty.
The price is great, sublimely Paid, Do we deserve a thing — That lives, like dollars, Must be piled Before we may obtain?
Are we that wait sufficient Worth, That such enormous pearl As Life should be dissolved For us In battle’s horrid bowl?
It may be a renown To live; I think the men who die — Those unsustainéd Saviors — Present Divinity.
