From the seed of love, a sapling grown.
Rekindled the flame of love by a beauty unknown.
In me, transformation occurred.
Once dark, now seen by me, everywhere, all bright tone. ...
DEAD, with their eyes to the foe,
Dead, with the foe at their feet;
Under the sky laid low
Truly their slumber is sweet,
Though the wind from the Camp of the
Slain Men blow,
And the rain on the wilderness beat.