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Alfred Lord Tennyson - The Princess: A Medley: Home they Brought her Warrior Dead
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Home they brought her warrior dead:
        She nor swoon`d nor utter`d cry:
All her maidens, watching, said,
        "She must weep or she will die."
Then they praised him, soft and low,
        Call`d him worthy to be loved,
Truest friend and noblest foe;
        Yet she neither spoke nor moved.
Stole a maiden from her place,
       Lightly to the warrior stepped,
Took the face-cloth from the face;
       Yet she neither moved nor wept.

Rose a nurse of ninety years,
       Set his child upon her knee—
Like summer tempest came her tears—
       "Sweet my child, I live for thee."
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