Читать книгу The New Morning: Poems - Alfred Noyes - Страница 10

Table of Contents

There were no signs of joy that eyes could see.

Our hearts were all three thousand miles away.

There were no trumpets blown for victory.

A million dead were calling us that day.

And eyes grew blind, at times; but grief was deep,

Deeper than any foes or friends have known;

For Oh, my country's lips are locked to keep

Her bitterest loss her own, and all her own.

Only the music told what else was dumb,

The funeral march to which our pulses beat;

For all our dead went by, to a muffled drum

We heard the tread of all those phantom feet.

Yes. There was victory! Deep in every soul.

We heard them marching to their unseen goal.