Home They Brought Her Warrior Dead

I love old stories of knights, and warriors of the day of yore, and I am a huge fan of Arthurian lore, so I just loved this poem, and it really spoke to me.

Home They Brought Her Warrior Dead

Home they brought her warrior dead:
She nor swooned, nor uttered cry:
All her maidens, watching, said,
'She must weep or she will die.'

Then they praised him, soft and low,
Called 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 the

You must have loved his Idylls of the King!

I acutally have not yet read them, but I do want to

You will certainly not be disappointed.
John

Bhavani the eldest child of Subbayya and Duggamma: my great gradparents, died yesterday 4th January 2006 5.30 PM IST. She was 100 years and few months old. (She was the elder sister of my grandfather.) She was in perfect health. She was born in November 1907, if you want some hooks: an year before Khudiram Bose, a boy from the civil society attacked British, several years before Jalianwala bagh massacre and many years before two world wars broke.She was a window most of her life. She was married when she was a little girl and her husband died at an young age. Widow marriage was not moral those days (morality is amazing, huh?); she never married again. Pure, she wanted to be; she was named after river Ganga after all.