Then in the lull of midnight, gentle arms <br />Lifted him slowly down the slopes of death <br />Lest he should hear again the mad alarms <br />Of battle, dying moans, and painful breath. <br /> <br />And where the earth was soft for flowers we made <br />A grave for him that he might better rest. <br />So, Spring shall come and leave it seet arrayed, <br />And there the lark shall turn her dewy nest<br /><br />Francis Ledwidge<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-soldier-s-grave/
