Classic Poem

She had been sent for—visiting hours were past—
The Lithuanian woman with the blue,
Deep-shadowed eyes. The child's bed was the last,
And as she crossed the room, she knew—she knew.
White-faced she stood, the broad young shoulders drooped
Beneath the hooded gown that visitors wear;
The nurse had left her; suddenly she stooped,
The hood slipped back and showed her braided hair.
There was no cry! The Russians weep and pray,
Italians beat their breasts. This woman turned,
Asked for his clothes, tearless and calm and gray;
The doctor told her they had all been burned.
So she was gone—only her great eyes said,
What thing is lost when a small child is dead!