To a Sorrowing Mother
You hide your grief, Mother,
But in lonely twilight times
You silently weep for another
Who is dead.
Alone, you mourn thus;
That he, whose only dirge was the wind,
Should be unwept by us
Who laugh:
That we should coarsely sing
In selfish merriment, unheeding,
Thoughtless of a thing
Like his death.
But, ah! Sorrowing Mother,
Can we not also smile and hide
Our grief, who mourn a brother—
Secretly?
