Classic Poem

A SNOW-CAIRN is their grave,
Far in the frozen South.
A cross of skis above it,
And not an eye to love it.
A snow-cairn is their grave,
And never priestly mouth
Shall bring it prayer—or holy care;
But only wind—the bitter wind
And God shall visit there.

And see, under the pall,
Under the snowy stole,
Heroic faces whiling
Eternity with smiling.
For so they lie—and all
The white peace of the Pole
Shall wrap them deep in a sleep
Brave hearts shall ever remember
In vigils hard to keep.