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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=348498" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Dwellings Of Our Dead</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">They lie unwatched, in waste and vacant places, <br> In sombre bush or wind-swept tussock spaces, <br> Where seldom human tread <br> And never human trace is— <br> The dwellings of our dead! <br> No insolence of stone is o'er them builded; <br> By mockery of monuments unshielded, <br> Far on the unfenced plain <br> Forgotten graves have yielded <br> Earth to free earth again. <br> Above their crypts no air with incense reeling, <br> No chant of choir or sob of organ pealing; <br> But ever over them <br> The evening breezes kneeling <br> Whisper a requiem. <br> For some the margeless plain where no one passes, <br> Save when at morning far in misty masses <br> The drifting flock appears. <br> Lo, here the greener grasses <br> Glint like a stain of tears! <br> <br> For some the quiet bush, shade-strewn and saddened, <br> Whereo'er the herald tui, morning-gladdened, <br> Lone on his chosen tree, <br> With his new rapture maddened, <br> Shouts incoherently. <br> For some the gully where, in whispers tender, <br> The flax-blades mourn and murmur, and the slender <br> White ranks of toi go, <br> With drooping plumes of splendour, <br> In pageantry of woe. <br> For some the common trench where, not all fameless, <br> They fighting fell who thought to tame the tameless, <br> And won their barren crown; <br> Where one grave holds them nameless— <br> Brave white and braver brown. <br> But in their sleep, like troubled children turning, <br> A dream of mother-country in them burning, <br> They whisper their despair, <br> And one vague, voiceless yearning <br> Burdens the pausing air … <br> <br> “ Unchanging here the drab year onward presses; <br> No Spring comes trysting here with new-loosed tresses , <br> And never may the years <br> Win Autumn's sweet caresses — <br> Her leaves that fall like tears . <br> And we would lie 'neath old-remembered beeches , <br> Where we could hear the voice of him who preaches <br> And the deep organ's call , <br> While close about us reaches <br> The cool, grey, lichened wall .” <br> But they are ours, and jealously we hold them; <br> Within our children's ranks we have enrolled them, <br> And till all Time shall cease <br> Our brooding bush shall fold them <br> In her broad-bosomed peace. <br> They came as lovers come, all else forsaking, <br> The bonds of home and kindred proudly breaking; <br> They lie in splendour lone— <br> The nation of their making <br> Their everlasting throne!</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Arthur+Henry+Adams">Arthur Henry Adams</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=348498" data-title="The Dwellings Of Our Dead de Arthur Henry Adams" data-description="They lie unwatched, in waste and vacant places, 
 In sombre bush or wind-swept tussock spaces, 
 Where seldom human tread 
 And never human trace is— 
 The dwellings of our dead! 
 No insolence of stone is o'er them builded; 
 By mockery of monu..."></div>
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