Poems (Carmichael)/Dead

by Sarah Elizabeth Carmichael

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!