Poetry

On A Soldier's Funeral

By GALSWORTHY, JOHN
NO pipes have skirled;
But heaven's wildest music blares;
Above the compound lightning flares,
The rain is whirled.

No drums shall roll --
Only a private soldier gone!
The cold light paints no funeral stone --
No bell need toll!

He lived his tame
And little day of silent tasks
And silent duty -- no one asks
To know his name.

The milestones fade
Along the road that he has come.
No cheer of music takes him home --
His wage is paid.

The wind shrills high;
The darkened day is chasing grief
With lash of blinding rain -- and brief
The footfalls die.


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