Explore "At the Grave in Waldheim" by Voltairine De Cleyre on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Quiet they lie in their shrouds of rest, / Their lids kissed close 'neath the lips of peace; / Over each pulseless and painless breast / The hands lie folded and softly pressed, / As a dead dove presses a broken nest; / Ah, broken hearts were the price of these!
The lips of their anguish are cold and still, / For them are the clouds and the gloom all past; / No longer the woe of the world can thrill / The chords of those tender hearts, or fill / The silent dead-house! The "people's will"