Classic Poem

 Had we but closelier watched that day,
Had we but guessed that then the attack was planned,
Could we, a small but fully awakened band,
 Have held the hosts of death at bay?

 Could we have kept death at the door
And given, if but for one sweet summer more,
 Life and the joy of life to one
Gladdened so simply by fresh air and sun?

 I think we might have,—who can say?
But does not that most piteous “ might ”
 In its mute force convey
A sense of horror deeper than the night?

 Yea, deadlier, deeper, than the tomb
That shrouds my mother's form from mortal eyes
 Is the persistent gloom
That on her son's soul lies;

On his,—and on another watcher's soul,
 Two feel that, had their task been fully done,
Two broken hearts might even to-day be whole:
 God help the watcher,—and the son!