As Toilsome I Wander'd Virginia's Woods

AS TOILSOME I wander'd Virginia's woods,

To the music of rustling leaves, kick'd by my feet, (for

      'twas autumn,)

I mark'd at the foot of a tree the grave of a soldier,

Mortally wounded he, and buried on the retreat, (easily all could I understand;

The halt of a mid-day hour, when up! no time to lose

      —yet this sign left,

On a tablet scrawl'd and nail'd on the tree by the grave,

Bold, cautious, true, and my loving comrade.

Long, long I muse, then on my way go wandering;

Many a changeful season to follow, and many a scene of life;

Yet at times through changeful season and scene, ab-ruptabrupt, alone, or in the crowded street,

Comes before me the unknown soldier's grave—comes the inscription rude in Virginia's woods,

Bold, cautious, true, and my loving comrade.