Through the light rain I think I see them going,
Through the light rain under the muffled skies;
Across the fields a stealthy wet wind wanders,
The mist bedews their tunics, dizzies their brains.

Shoulder-high, khaki shoulder by shoulder,
They bear my Boy upon his last journey.
Night is closing. The wind sighs, ebbs, and falters . . .
They totter dreaming, deem they see his face.

Even as Vikings of old their slaughtered leader
Upon their shoulders, so now bear they on
All that remains of Boy, my friend, their leader,

“T HEY made her a grave too cold and damp”
For a soul so warm and true;
And she's gone to the Lake of the Dismal Swamp,
Where all night long, by a firefly lamp,
She paddles her white canoe.
And her firefly lamp I soon shall see,
And her paddle I soon shall hear;
Long and loving our life shall be,
And I'll hide the maid in a cypress tree,
When the footstep of death is near.”

Away to the Dismal Swamp he speeds,—
His path was rugged and sore,

Through tangled juniper, beds of reeds,
Through many a fen where the serpent feeds,

They fought south of the wall,
died north of the outworks,
lie dead in the fields unburied,
fine food for the crows.
Tell the crows for me,
weep for these strangers!
Dead in the field, if no one buries them,
how can their rotting flesh hope to escape you?
Waters are deep, swift and strong,
rushes and reed banks cluster darkly;
the brave horsemen have fought and died,
their weary mounts wander here and there, neighing.
On the bridge they built sentry huts—
how could we go south? how could we go north?
And if we do not gather in the grain and millet,

There's one thing I like about that gal of mine
There's one thing I like about that gal of mine
There's one thing I like about that gal of mine
She treats me right and loves me all the time

Sometimes I'm broke and blue as I can be
Sometimes I'm broke and blue as I can be
Sometimes I'm broke and blue as I can be
But still my baby she looks after me

She walked in the rain till her feet got soaking wet
She walked in the rain till her feet got soaking wet
She walked in the rain till her feet got soaking wet

There lies a somnolent lake
Under a noiseless sky,
Where never the mornings break
Nor the evenings die.

Mad flakes of colour
Whirl on its even face
Iridescent and streaked with pallour;
And, warding the silent place,

The rocks rise sheer and gray
From the sedgeless brink to the sky
Dull-lit with the light of pale half-day
Thro' a void space and dry.

And the hours lag dead in the air
With a sense of coming eternity:
To the heart of the lonely boatman there:
That boatman am I,

I, in my lonely boat,

1. The Spirit in our hearts, Is whispering, sinner, come;
2. Let him that heareth say To all about him, come.
The Bride, the Church of Christ, proclaims To all his children, come.
Let him that thirsts for righteousness To Christ, the fountain, come.

3. Yes, whosoever will,
O let him freely come,
And freely drink the stream of life;
'Tis Jesus bids him come.

4. Lo, Jesus, who invites,
Declares, I quickly come.
Lord! even so, I wait thy hour;
Jesus, my Saviour, come.

The speckled bird sings in the tree
When all the stars are silver-pale.
Come, children, walk the night with me,
And we shall hear the nightingale.

The nightingale is a shy bird,
He flits before you through the night.
And now the sleepy vale is stirred
Through all its green and gold and white.

The moon leans from her place to hear,
The stars shed golden star-dust down,
For now comes in the sweet o' the year,
The country's gotten the greenest gown.

The blackbird turns upon his bed,
The thrush has oped a sleeping eye,

Slowly the Moon her banderoles of light
Unfurls upon the sky; her fingers drip
Pale, silvery tides; her armoured warriors
Leave Day's bright tents of azure and of gold,
Wherein they hid them, and in silence flock
Upon the solemn battlefield of Night
To try great issues with the blind old king,
The Titan Darkness, who great Pharoah fought
With groping hands, and conquered for a span.

The starry hosts with silver lances prick
The scarlet fringes of the tents of Day,
And turn their crystal shields upon their breasts,

Slip a little something
into his sleeve
and watch the sour expression fade

Sleep
Now the charge is won,
Sleep in the narrow clod;
Now it is set of sun,
Sleep till the trump of God.
Sleep.

Sleep.
Fame is a bugle call
Blown past a crumbling wall,
Battles are clean forgot,
Captains and towns are not,
Sleep shall outlast them all.