Page:The complete poems of Paul Laurence Dunbar.pdf/61

 Born in the battle where fleet Death was flying,
 * Slaying with sabre-stroke bloody and fell;

Born where the heroes and martyrs were dying,
 * Torn by the fury of bullet and shell.

Ah, but the day is past: silent the rattle,
 * And the confusion that followed the fight.

Peace to the heroes who died in the battle,
 * Martyrs to truth and the crowning of Right!

Out of the blood of a conflict fraternal,
 * Out of the dust and the dimness of death,

Burst into blossoms of glory eternal
 * Flowers that sweeten the world with their breath.

Flowers of charity, peace, and devotion
 * Bloom in the hearts that are empty of strife;

Love that is boundless and broad as the ocean
 * Leaps into beauty and fulness of life.

So, with the singing of pæans and chorals,
 * And with the flag flashing high in the sun,

Place on the graves of our heroes the laurels
 * Which their unfaltering valor has won!


 * heart, good-night!

Nay, list awhile that sweet voice singing
 * When the world is all so bright,

And the sound of song sets the heart a-ringing,
 * Oh, love, it is not right—
 * Not then to say, "Good-night."


 * Dear heart, good-night!

The late winds in the lake weeds shiver,
 * And the spray flies cold and white.

And the voice that sings gives a telltale quiver—
 * "Ah, yes, the world is bright,
 * But, dearest heart, good-night!"


 * Dear heart, good-night!

And do not longer seek to hold me!
 * For my soul is in affright

As the fearful glooms in their pall enfold me.
 * See him who sang how white
 * And still; so, dear, good-night.