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."
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 (1809-1892)
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