The Mound By The Lake


The grass shall never forget this grave.
When homeward footing it in the sun
  After the weary ride by rail,
The stripling soldiers passed her door,
  Wounded perchance, or wan and pale,
She left her household work undone—
Duly the wayside table spread,
  With evergreens shaded, to regale
Each travel-spent and grateful one.
So warm her heart—childless—unwed,
Who like a mother comforted.


facebook share button twitter share button google plus share button tumblr share button reddit share button email share button share on pinterest pinterest

Create a library and add your favorite stories. Get started by clicking the "Add" button.
Add The Mound By The Lake to your own personal library.

Return to the Herman Melville Home Page, or . . . Read the next poem; The New Zealot To The Sun

It ain't what you don't know that gets you into trouble. It's what you know for sure that just ain't so.