Here is another one: Home They Brought Her Warrior Dead - by Alfred Lord Tennyson Home they brought her warrior dead: She nor swooned, nor uttered cry: All her maidens, watching, said, ýShe must weep or she will die.ý 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 kneeý Like summer tempest came her tearsý ýSweet my child, I live for thee.ý