It feels a shame to be
Alive
When men so brave are dead.
One envies the distinguished
Dust
Permitted such a head;
The stone that tells defending
Whom
This Spartan put away
What little of him we
Possessed
In pawn for liberty.
The price is great, sublimely
Paid,
Do we deserve a thing—
That lives, like dollars,
Must be piled
Before we may obtain?
Are we that wait sufficient
Worth,
That such enormous pearl
As Life should be dissolved
For us
In battle’s horrid bowl?
It may be a renown
To live;
I think the men who die—
Those unsustainéd Saviors—
Present Divinity.
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