CHARLES WOLFE
But half of our heavy task was done
When the clock struck the hour for retiring;
And we heard the distant and random gun That the foe was sullenly firing.
Slowly and sadly we laid him down,
From the field of his fame fresh and gory;
We carved not a line, and we raised not a stone, But we left him alone with his glory.
��6 ii To Mary
PF I had thought thou couldst have died,
I might not weep for thee; But I forgot, when by thy side,
That thou couldst mortal be: It never through my mind had past
The time would e'er be o'er, And I on thee should look my last,
And thou shouldst smile no more'
And still upon that face I look,
And think 'twill smile again; And still the thought I will not brook,
That I must look in vain. But when I speak thou dobt not say
What thou ne'er left'st unsaid; And now I feel, as well I may,
Sweet Mary, thou art dead*
If thou wouldst stay, e'en as thou art, All cold and all serene
I still might press thy silent heart, And where thy smiles have been.
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