Classic Poem

" Oh, why do ye stand so still, lad,
In yon strange cloak of green?
And why have ye shut with a will, lad,
Them eyes as were once so keen? "

" There's a grumble of guns on the hill, lass;
But under it, where I lie,
The ground of my grave is still, lass;
And stiller beneath am I. "

" Ah, ye do well to be still, lad,
For weary your days have been,
With grumble o' guns on the hill, lad;
But why have ye got on green? "

" In the country where I have been, lass,
All blotted with blood and clay,
It's a colour I haven't seen, lass,
For many a weary day. "

" Ah, well have ye done to cast, lad,
Your khaki coat for a green;
But why must ye still shut fast, lad,
Them eyes I have not yet seen?

What for do ye stand so blindly,
When it's you as I've longed to see?
If ye can't look at me kindly,
Why did ye come to me? "

" Ah, sure, I'm back to the place, lass,
Where oft I've longed to be,
For a look at the bonny face, lass,
I'd be giving my eyes to see.

So say a kind prayer for me, lass,
In a bed that's lonely and bare;
But how can I let ye see, lass,
The eyes, — when the eyes ain't there? "

. . . . . .

Blind Love, now tell me whether
A ghost finds what it seeks?
Two lovers stand close together,
And the tears run down their cheeks.