Page:In Flanders Fields and Other Poems.djvu/58

 A Song of Comfort

HRO' May time blossoms, with whisper low,

The soft wind sang to the dead below:

"Think not with regret on the Springtime's song

And the task ye left while your hands were strong.

The song would have ceased when the Spring was past,

And the task that was joyous be weary at last."

To the winter sky when the nights were long

The tree-tops tossed with a ceaseless song: [38]