Classic Poem

He is gone where the woodbine twineth,
With the vine on the ivied wall,
'Neath the shade of the weeping willow,
Where its long drooping branches fall
Remember then the soldier,
Ones noble and so brave,
And cast thy little token
A flowret on his grave
Then go where the wood-bine twineth,
When spring is bright and fair,
And to the soldier's resting place some little tribute bear
Then go where the wood-bine twineth,
When spring is bright and fair,
And to the soldier's resting place some little tribute bear
Then go where the wood-bine twineth,
When spring is bright and fair,
And to the soldier's resting place some little tribute bear
Then go where the wood-bine twineth,
When spring is bright and fair,
And to the soldier's resting place some little tribute bear

2.

He is gone where the wood-bine twineth;
Let him rest, for his sleep is sweet,
No more on the field of battle,
Shall he march to the drum's low beat,
His heart no more shall quicken
To the bugle's thrilling blow,
For death has found a victim,
And his head at last lies low.

3.

He is gone where the woodbine twineth,
From the hearts that were kind and near;
He has parted with friends forever,
For the flag that he held so dear
He fought to win the glory
That a hero only knows;
His name shall live in story
While he finds a calm repose.