Explore "Taps" by Georgia Douglas Johnson on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
They are embosomed in the sod, / In still and tranquil leisure, / Their lives they've cast like trifles down, / To serve their country's pleasure.
Nor bugle call, nor mother's voice, / Nor moody mob's unreason, / Shall break their solace and repose / Through swiftly changing season.
O graves of men who lived and died / Afar from life's high pleasures, / Fold them in tenderly and warm / With manifold fond measures.