Virna Sheard
And that they may not dread night s mystery, He lights for them the candles of the sky.
They are infolded by the silken waves
And wrapped in shining blue and emerald green ;
They drift through opalescent ocean caves That only God Himself hath ever seen.
The great salt wind that no man holds in thrall Touches them softly as it passes by,
I think the silver sea gulls know them all, And greet them with their lonely tender cry.
For but a little little round of years,
The sweet sun-sprinkled foam will be their bed,
And they will slumber hushed from any fears To waken, when the sea gives up her dead.
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��REQUIEM
- EEP for the dead; weep for the swift slain dead,
November skies; Too few the tears that day and night are shed From women s eyes.
Blow o er them lightly with a soft caress, Wind of the sea,
If you are tender they may miss love less Where e er they be.
Come, gentle moon, swing low your lantern light On reddened fields,
And find the lonely harvest of the night That battle yields.
Banish the darkness filled with quivering dread, Lest they should know
Some last strange horror even they the dead Sweet moon, swing low.
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