Last night beneath the foreign stars I stood <br />And saw the thoughts of those at home go by <br />To the great grave upon the hill of blood. <br />Upon the darkness they went visibly, <br />Each in the vesture of its own distress. <br />Among them there came One, frail as a sigh, <br />And like a creature of the wilderness <br />Dug with her bleeding hands. She neither cried <br />Nor wept; nor did she see the many stark <br />And dead that lay unburied at her side. <br />All night she toiled, and at that time of dawn, <br />When Day and Night do change their More and Less, <br />And Day is More, I saw the melting Dark <br />Stir to the last, and knew she laboured on.<br /><br />Sydney Thompson Dobell<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-common-grave/
