I came into the City and none knew me;
None came forth, none shouted ‘He is here!
Not a hand with laurel would bestrew me,
All the way by which I drew anear- ...
DEAD, with their eyes to the foe,
Dead, with the foe at their feet;
Under the sky laid low
Truly their slumber is sweet,
Though the wind from the Camp of the
Slain Men blow,
And the rain on the wilderness beat.