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waiting for news.
Still I loiter in the lane,—
If I might but send you, dear,
Sweetbrier scents, the lark's refrain,
They would soothe the battle-pain;
You should feel me near:
If I might but send you, dear,
Sweetbrier scents, the lark's refrain,
They would soothe the battle-pain;
You should feel me near:
And the fresh thought of these fields
With new strength would nerve your arm.
Fearlessly his sword he wields,
Whose whole risk is what it shields,—
Home-love, pure and warm.
With new strength would nerve your arm.
Fearlessly his sword he wields,
Whose whole risk is what it shields,—
Home-love, pure and warm.
And you ventured this; you gave
Freely all your wealth of life,
That the Stars and Stripes might wave
Nevermore above a slave.
Cheerfully your wife
Freely all your wealth of life,
That the Stars and Stripes might wave
Nevermore above a slave.
Cheerfully your wife
Climbs with you great Freedom's pyre,—
Not as Hindoo widows die.
We to life in Life aspire:
Love's last height is our desire;
Lo! we tread the sky!
Not as Hindoo widows die.
We to life in Life aspire:
Love's last height is our desire;
Lo! we tread the sky!
