Home they brought her warrior dead: <br /> She nor swooned, nor uttered cry: <br />All her maidens, watching, said, <br /> ‘She must weep or she will die.’ <br /> <br />Then they praised him, soft and low, <br /> Called him worthy to be loved, <br />Truest friend and noblest foe; <br /> Yet she neither spoke nor moved. <br /> <br />Stole a maiden from her place, <br /> Lightly to the warrior stepped, <br />Took the face-cloth from the face; <br /> Yet she neither moved nor wept. <br /> <br />Rose a nurse of ninety years, <br /> Set his child upon her knee— <br />Like summer tempest came her tears— <br /> ‘Sweet my child, I live for thee.’<br /><br />Alfred Lord Tennyson<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/home-they-brought-her-warrior-dead-2/
