II

Ah, little eyes

Dead blossoms of a springtime long ago,

That life's storm crushed and left to lie below

The benediction of the falling snow!

Sleep, little heart

That ceased so long ago its frantic beat!

The years that come and go with silent feet

Have naught to tell save this -- that rest is sweet.

Dear little heart.

In Flanders Fields, and Other Poems · 第 20 / 51 题