John McCrae

(30 November 1872 – 28 January 1918 / Guelph, Ontario)

The Oldest Drama

Poem by John McCrae

"It fell on a day, that he went out to his father to the reapers.
And he said unto his father, My head, my head. And he said to a lad,
Carry him to his mother. And . . . he sat on her knees till noon,
and then died. And she went up, and laid him on the bed. . . .
And shut the door upon him and went out."

Immortal story that no mother's heart
Ev'n yet can read, nor feel the biting pain
That rent her soul! Immortal not by art
Which makes a long past sorrow sting again

Like grief of yesterday: but since it said
In simplest word the truth which all may see,
Where any mother sobs above her dead
And plays anew the silent tragedy.

Comments about The Oldest Drama by John McCrae

  • Dorothy (11/29/2017 11:32:00 AM)

    please respond to
    about the poem, The Pilgrims I told you about. Thanks.(Report)Reply

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  • Dorothy (11/29/2017 11:30:00 AM)

    The poem The Pilgrims I can't find it. It starts out: Through the snow and cold the pilgrims went.
    With courage high and hearts content. I'm offering a reward to anyone who can find this poem.(Report)Reply

    0 person liked.
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Read poems about / on: father, mother, grief, sorrow, truth, pain, heart

Poem Submitted: Tuesday, December 31, 2002