I would like to confirm that Katharine Tynan wrote the following, and in which poem.
Far in the fields of France,
My dear love lies asleep,
But not for that my tears,
Because he killed, I weep.
Where are ye now, O beautiful girls of the mountain, Oreads all ? Nothing at all stirs here save the drip of the fountain; Answers our call Only the heart-glad thrush, in the Vale of Thrushes; Stirs in the brake But the dew-bright ear of the hare in his couch of rushes Listening, awake.