Classic Poem

She found his Grave

Lady , I watched and waited for a word,
A step, that never came by night or day,
Until, with stricken heart and brain, I heard
News of Antietam's battle, far away,
And knew the form I fain had died to shield,
Was lying mangled on that bloody field.

I wondered then why those who crave to die
Are left, and others called who wish to stay.
There was no light for me in earth or sky,
No past, no future, neither night nor day;
My all of life, my soul and self were gone,
And yet this wretched heart kept beating on.


I sat one eventide, with listless gaze
Fixed on the line that bounds yon long sea-reach,
Thinking of him and all the old, bright days,
Till I recalled the fashion of his speech,
And seemed to hear the slumberous summer air
Whispering his tender words at parting there.

“O, love,” I cried, in bitter agony,
“Where, where, in all illimitable space
Art thou to-day? Not all of thee could die.
Where is thy home? Where is thy dwelling-place?”
And starting up, I know not why nor how,
Beheld him standing there where you stand now.

No, lady, no; I was not self-deceived.
I saw his face as surely and as well
As I see yours, by that dark wall relieved.
With outspread arms I flew to him, and fell—
Not in the fond embrace I met of yore,
But frightened, shivering, fainting on the floor.

When I awakened from that death-like swound,
The room was shrouded in intensest night;
In strange bewilderment, I gazed around
As one who suddenly had lost his sight.
And soft and low a dear voice seemed to sigh;
“Death holds this secret, sweet—Love can not die.”

They found me lying prone upon my face,
With all my raven hair bleached snowy white,
And scarce in line or lineament could trace
The countenance I wore but yesternight;
Yet I lived on—it was our Father's will—
Grief only saps the heart, it does not kill.

Thenceforth my life had but one single aim,
My lips one prayer, my heart one boon to crave;
And so, for many years I went and came,
But yesterday I found my hero's grave—
Found it all starred with daisies, where the air
Makes a soft murmur, like the voice of prayer.

I knelt and kissed my darling's lowly bed,
And laid my burning cheek above his breast;
“Oh, I have found thee, my lost love,” I said;
“My pilgrimage is ended—let me rest.”
And all the fever's fire, and all the pain
Drifted away from weary heart and brain.

He sleeps in the green valley where he fell,
Breasting the surges of a fiery tide,
Where scarce a living man was left to tell
How gallantly he fought, how bravely died.
Lady, my task is done; before the dawn
My soul shall follow where its love has gone.English