Poems (Carmichael)/Dead
For works with similar titles, see Dead.
DEAD.
Weep for the dead! Not those who gave The dust that fills a patriot's grave; Not for the true arm still and cold; Not for the breast that the grasses fold; Not for the bright form under the mold; Not for the heart that bled. But weep, O weep for the coward vein! Dead, for it had no pulse to drain; Dead, for it could not feel a pain; Dead to the core—dead! Dead as a soulless sentence spoke; Dead as a useless promise broke; Dead as a sightless eye awoke: Dead!
Weep for the dead! Not those who went Home by the stab of a traitor sent; Not for the smile we see no more; Not for the love on the Aiden shore; Not for the life whose pain is o'er; Not for the spirit fled. Yet weep for the bosom numb and still! Dead, for it felt no patriot thrill; Dead, for it had no life to spill; Dead to the core—dead! Dead as the hate of an idiot glance; Dead as the steel of a broken lance; Dead as a last neglected chance: Dead!
Weep for the dead! Not those who claim Immortal life on the scroll of Fame; Not for the soul that feared but shame; Not for the life that reached its aim; Not for the step that marked in flame Print of a hero's tread. Weep for the dead that breathe and speak! Dead, with a life bloom on the cheek; Dead, for they have no aim to seek; Dead to the core—dead! Dead as the use of a wasted hour; Dead as the dew on a poison flower; Dead as a soul's crime-palsied power: Dead!