This one is for u christy

Home They Brought Her Warrior Dead
Alfred, Lord Tennyson

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 thee.’