The Two Soldiers
Just at the corner of the wallWe met—yes, he and I—Who had not faced in camp or hallSince we bade home good-bye,And what once happened came back—all—Out of those years gone by.
And that strange woman whom we knewAnd loved—long dead and gone,Whose poor half-perished residue,Tombless and trod, lay yon!But at this moment to our viewRose like a phantom wan.
And in his fixed face I could see,Lit by a lurid shine,The drama re-enact which sheHad dyed incarnadineFor us, and more. And doubtless heBeheld it too in mine.
A start, as at one slightly known,And with an indifferent airWe passed, without a sign being shownThat, as it real were,A memory-acted scene had thrownIts tragic shadow there.
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