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Poems about Warriors

scoxrox on January 09, 2013 14:54

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    Home they brought her warrior dead:
    She nor swoon'd nor utter'd cry:
    All her maidens, watching, said,
    "She must weep or she will die."

    Then they praised him, soft and low,
    Call'd him worthy to be loved,
    Truest friend and noblest foe;
    Yet she neither spoke nor moved.

    Stole a maiden from her place,
    Lightly to the warrior stepped,
    Took the face-cloth from the face;
    Yet she neither moved nor wept.

    Rose a nurse of ninety years,
    Set his child upon her knee—
    Like summer tempest came her tears—
    "Sweet my child, I live for thee."

    Alfred, Lord Tennyson


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