Classic Poem

I

Brother, brother, why left they you alone?

Did they not know —
Not know thee?
But alas, none knew
But me!

Yet, had they known,
You had not now been so,
Perhaps. But you
Are dead.
And shall I raise my voice unto the dead —
Dead brother, shall I deck your grave with songs,
And crown your head
With words, where silence now belongs?

II

I knew it all;
Yes, and I knew it well.
I conquer'd, but
I know not whether it were worth the fight.

By night,
When every door was shut,
And I was left alone, I fought it out.
And the grey giant is a subtle foe,
And is not seen — invisible — but I, —
Why should I tell you now, who know?
Why should I raise my voice unto the dead —
The quiet dead? My brother, do you care,
And can you hear —
This maim'd, cold shape of manhood that is thee?

What matter now.
Mayhap you now are free,
And all your boasting over — you who bragg'd
To drown the cries of devils, and the long
Harsh losing battle.
Brother, shall I wreath your grave with song,
As now I bury thee
Apart from other men?
But what are words — to light
A path that is not, or to rouse to fight
That shatter'd brain that cannot strive again?

III

Not so; but here,
Apart from other men,
Neither in joy nor sorrow do I lay
Thy clay
Unto the peaceful clay again.