Soldier, Maiden, and Flower
"Sweetheart, take this," a soldier said,"And bid me brave good-by;It may befall we ne'er shall wed,But love can never die.Be steadfast in thy troth to me,And then, whate'er my lot,'My soul to God, my heart to thee,'--Sweetheart, forget me not!"
The maiden took the tiny flowerAnd nursed it with her tears:Lo! he who left her in that hourCame not in after years.Unto a hero's death he rode'Mid shower of fire and shot;But in the maiden's heart abodeThe flower, forget-me-not.
And when he came not with the restFrom out the years of blood,Closely unto her widowed breastShe pressed a faded bud;Oh, there is love and there is pain,And there is peace, God wot,--And these dear three do live againIn sweet forget-me-not.
'T is to an unmarked grave to-dayThat I should love to go,--Whether he wore the blue or gray,What need that we should know?"He loved a woman," let us say,And on that sacred spot,To woman's love, that lives for aye,We'll strew forget-me-not.
1887.
Sign in to like, rate and collect poems, and keep track of what you've read.