NIGHT AFTER THE BATTLE.
I waited there on the battle field when the tumult of strife was done;
There with the dead, while the black-browed earth reeled dizzily over the sun,
And the sullen moments crept away, with a noiseless, ghostly tread;
There, with the pallid poppy leaves of slumber around me spread
On the hand, and brow, and lip, and heart, of the dying and the dead.
The wound on my head ached wearily; the wound on my bosom bled,
Till I scarce could pray with the fainting lip, where the passionate fever fed.
Vet, oh! how I longed for a drop of dew from the clear, cold, starry skies,
To cool the heavy lids that pressed hot on my sleepless eyes.
16
