<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=508806" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Mourners</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">I look into the aching womb of night;<br> I look across the mist that masks the dead;<br>The moon is tired and gives but little light,<br> The stars have gone to bed.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The earth is sick and seems to breathe with pain;<br> A lost wind whimpers in a mangled tree;<br>I do not see the foul, corpse-cluttered plain,<br> The dead I do not see.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The slain I would not see . . . and so I lift<br> My eyes from out the shambles where they lie;<br>When lo! a million woman-faces drift<br> Like pale leaves through the sky.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The cheeks of some are channelled deep with tears;<br> But some are tearless, with wild eyes that stare<br>Into the shadow of the coming years<br> Of fathomless despair.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And some are young, and some are very old;<br> And some are rich, some poor beyond belief;<br>Yet all are strangely like, set in the mould<br> Of everlasting grief.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">They fill the vast of Heaven, face on face;<br> And then I see one weeping with the rest,<br>Whose eyes beseech me for a moment's space. . . .<br> Oh eyes I love the best!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Nay, I but dream. The sky is all forlorn,<br> And there's the plain of battle writhing red:<br>God pity them, the women-folk who mourn!<br> How happy are the dead!</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Robert+William+Service">Robert William Service</a><div class=q> <img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share"> <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=508806" data-title="The Mourners de Robert William Service" data-description="I look into the aching womb of night; I look across the mist that masks the dead; The moon is tired and gives but little light, The stars have gone to bed. The earth is sick and seems to breathe with pain; A lost wind whimpers in a mangled tre..."></div> </div> </div>

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