The Oldest Drama

 "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.

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