Oh! craven, craven! while my brothers fall
Oh! craven, craven! while my brothers fall,
Like grass before the mower, in the fight,
I, easy vassal to my own delight,
Am bound with flowers, a far too willing thrall.
Day after day along the streets I crawl,
Shamed in my manhood, reddening at the sight
Of every soldier who upholds the right
With no more motive than his country's call.
I love thee more than honor; ay, above
That simple duty, conscience-plain and clear
To dullest minds, whose summons all men hear.
Yet as I blush and loiter, who should move
In the grand marches, I cannot but fear
That thou wilt scorn me for my very love.
Like grass before the mower, in the fight,
I, easy vassal to my own delight,
Am bound with flowers, a far too willing thrall.
Day after day along the streets I crawl,
Shamed in my manhood, reddening at the sight
Of every soldier who upholds the right
With no more motive than his country's call.
I love thee more than honor; ay, above
That simple duty, conscience-plain and clear
To dullest minds, whose summons all men hear.
Yet as I blush and loiter, who should move
In the grand marches, I cannot but fear
That thou wilt scorn me for my very love.
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