Penance

My lover died a century ago,

Her dear heart stricken by my sland'rous breath,

Wherefore the Gods forbade that I should know

The peace of death.

Men pass my grave, and say, "'Twere well to sleep,

Like such an one, amid the uncaring dead!"

How should they know the vigils that I keep,

The tears I shed?

Upon the grave, I count with lifeless breath,

Each night, each year, the flowers that bloom and die,

Deeming the leaves, that fall to dreamless death,

More blest than I.

'Twas just last year — I heard two lovers pass

So near, I caught the tender words he said:

To-night the rain-drenched breezes sway the grass

Above his head.

That night full envious of his life was I,

That youth and love should stand at his behest;

To-night, I envy him, that he should lie

At utter rest.

John McCrae

John McCrae born in Guelph, Ontario, Canadian poet, soldier, and physician John McCrae earned his undergraduate and medical degrees at the University of Toronto, where he received the Gold Medal. McCrae’s well-known poem “In Flanders Fields” memorializes the April 1915 battle in Belgium’s Ypres salient. For 17 days, McCrae tended those injured in the battle. January 28, 1918, at the age of 45. McCrae was buried with full military honors in Wimereux Cemetery near Boulogne, France. His family home in Guelph is preserved as a museum, and the main street in Wimereux is now named Rue McCrae.

More poems from same author

A Song Of Comfort Anarchy Disarmament Equality Eventide

Penance

More poems from same author

Subscribe to our newsletter.