The impenetrable monument Does not verge or angle In a time made green by grass, Nor does it lightly lack An upright pointing finger To implicate a God. It is not A comfortable spring; there is no Useless cherry blossoming. There were those that said A people's greater than her nation; Or that war was a mask We had put occasionally on To learn our own true natures. Things were so confused It seemed that some might burn Until their aching hearts were new; And so the ignorant citizenry Walk like amicable young children taught To know what is the past. Though there were those who spoke Of the uninstructed dead Who sought a hallowed road home, Other voices said its only Stray names caught in a niche Like dirt beneath a nail. By measured statements that proceed From a level look There came at jeering last The gaping multitudes, or a few, To examine what had been done About what had been said. They came murmuring names Or weeping, weeping, Or murmuring names. And to the uttermost of this Still uncertain heart I find I cannot confess The imponderable waste of days.