Silence, Maiden; Thy Tongue Outruns

Soldier, Rest! Thy Warfare O'er, Sleep The Sleep That Knows Not Breaking, Dream Of Battled Fields No More. Days Of Danger, Nights Of Waking.

November's Sky Is Chill And Drear, November's Leaf Is Red And Sear.

The Way Was Long, The Wind Was Cold, The Minstrel Was Infirm And Old; His Withered Cheek, And Tresses Gray, Seemed To Have Know A Better Day.

But Woe Awaits A Country When She Sees The Tears Of Bearded Men.

Love, To Her Ear, Was But A Name, Combin'd With Vanity And Shame; Her Hopes, Her Fears, Her Joys, Were All Bounded Within The Cloister Wall.