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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=409122" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Unknown Dead</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">The rain is plashing on my sill,<br>But all the winds of Heaven are still;<br>And so it falls with that dull sound<br>Which thrills us in the church-yard ground,<br>When the first spadeful drops like lead<br>Upon the coffin of the dead.<br>Beyond my streaming window-pane,<br>I cannot see the neighboring vane,<br>Yet from its old familiar tower<br>The bell comes, muffled, through the shower.<br>What strange and unsuspected link<br>Of feeling touched, has made me think --<br>While with a vacant soul and eye<br>I watch that gray and stony sky --<br>Of nameless graves on battle-plains<br>Washed by a single winter's rains,<br>Where, some beneath Virginian hills,<br>And some by green Atlantic rills,<br>Some by the waters of the West,<br>A myriad unknown heroes rest.<br>Ah! not the chiefs, who, dying, see<br>Their flags in front of victory,<br>Or, at their life-blood's noble cost<br>Pay for a battle nobly lost,<br>Claim from their monumental beds<br>The bitterest tears a nation sheds.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Beneath yon lonely mound -- the spot<br>By all save some fond few forgot --<br>Lie the true martyrs of the fight<br>Which strikes for freedom and for right.<br>Of them, their patriot zeal and pride,<br>The lofty faith that with them died,<br>No grateful page shall farther tell<br>Than that so many bravely fell;<br>And we can only dimly guess<br>What worlds of all this world's distress,<br>What utter woe, despair, and dearth,<br>Their fate has brought to many a hearth.<br>Just such a sky as this should weep<br>Above them, always, where they sleep;<br>Yet, haply, at this very hour,<br>Their graves are like a lover's bower;<br>And Nature's self, with eyes unwet,<br>Oblivious of the crimson debt<br>To which she owes her April grace,<br>Laughs gayly o'er their burial-place.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Henry+Timrod">Henry Timrod</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=409122" data-title="The Unknown Dead de Henry Timrod" data-description="The rain is plashing on my sill,
But all the winds of Heaven are still;
And so it falls with that dull sound
Which thrills us in the church-yard ground,
When the first spadeful drops like lead
Upon the coffin of the dead.
Beyond my streaming windo..."></div>
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