Richard Hovey

Our cheer goes back to them, the valiant dead! Laurels and roses on their graves to-day, Lilies and laurels over them we lay, And violets o'er each unforgotten head.

And you prate of the wealth of nations, as if it were bought and sold, The wealth of nations is men, not silk and cotton and gold.

I have need of the sky I have business with the grass I will up and get me away where the hawk is wheeling. Lone and high and the slow clouds go by. I will get me away to the waters that glass the clouds as they pass. I will get me away to the woods.

Our cheer goes back to them, the valiant dead! Laurels and roses on their graves to-day, lilies and laurels over them we lay, and violets o'er each unforgotten head.