Page:American Poetry 1922.djvu/141



a bandage over his eyes, And at his feet Let rifles drearily patter Their death-prayers of defeat.

Throw a blanket over his body, It need no longer stir; Truth will but stand the stronger For all who died for her.

Now he has broken through To his own secret place; Which, if we dared to do, We would have no more power left to look on that dead face. 127