In the east the morning comes, <br />Hear the rollin' of the drums <br />On the hill. <br />But the heart that beat as they beat <br />In the battle's raging day heat <br />Lieth still. <br />Unto him the night has come, <br />Though they roll the morning drum. <br /> <br />What is in the bugle's blast? <br />It is: 'Victory at last! <br />Now for rest.' <br />But, my comrades, come behold him, <br />Where our colors now enfold him, <br />And his breast <br />Bares no more to meet the blade, <br />But lies covered in the shade. <br /> <br />What a stir there is to-day! <br />They are laying him away <br />Where he fell. <br />There the flag goes draped before him; <br />Now they pile the grave sod o'er him <br />With a knell. <br />And he answers to his name <br />In the higher ranks of fame. <br /> <br />There's a woman left to mourn <br />For the child that she has borne <br />In travail. <br />But her heart beats high and higher, <br />With the patriot mother's fire, <br />At the tale. <br />She has borne and lost a son, <br />But her work and his are done. <br /> <br />Fling the flag out, let it wave; <br />They 're returning from the grave-- <br />'Double quick!' <br />And the cymbals now are crashing, <br />Bright his comrades' eyes are flashing <br />From the thick <br />Battle-ranks which knew him brave, <br />No tears for a hero's grave. <br /> <br />In the east the morning comes, <br />Hear the rattle of the drums <br />Far away. <br />Now no time for grief's pursuing, <br />Other work is for the doing, <br />Here to-day. <br />He is sleeping, let him rest <br />With the flag across his breast.<br /><br />Paul Laurence Dunbar<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/dirge-for-a-soldier/
