Anthem for Doomed Youth
What bids me leave this weary wood,
Where shadows loom and silence stood?
A dying patriot lies low,
her name I did not know.
No trumpet calls, no clarion cry—
Her anthem was sung by the wind’s soft sigh.
The guns once roared, now gently cease,
And death, it seems, has brought her peace.
What bids me leave this solemn ground,
Where souls in endless rows are found?
The grass grows high, the poppies bloom,
A silent hymn for every tomb.
No glory here, no war-born pride—
Just broken dreams that softly died.
The stars look down with cold disdain,
On fields where youth lies still in pain.
What bids me leave? I cannot stay—
For she is gone, and I must stray.
And yet I linger by the wood,
Where she, the dying patriot, stood.

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