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Show THE UNKNOWN E. 0. Laughlin I do not understand . . . They bring so many, many flow ers to me Rainbows of roses, wreaths from every land; And hosts of solemn strangers come to see My tomb here on these quiet, wooded heights. My tomb here seems to be One of the sights. The low-voiced men, who speak Of me quite fondly, call me the Unknown: ' But now and then at dusk, Madonna-meek, Bent, mournful mothers came to me alo'ne And whisper down the flowers and grasses through Such names as "Jim" and "John". I wish they knew. And once my sweetheart came. She did not nay, of course she could not-know But thought of me, and crooned to me the name ' She called me by how many years ago ! A very precious name. Her eyes were wet ' Yet glowing, flaming so . . . She won't forget ! |