To-day they hang gay bunting o'er the town,
Here scarlet from an open window flies,
To make a holiday for toil-sick eyes
It flutters down.
Sun on the road, and bright flags overhead,
Shrill laughter from the jostling crowd below,
The town is merry-making; just as tho'
She was not dead.
First published in The Lone Hand, 1 February 1913
