I GIVE my soldier-boy a blade, In fair Damascus fashion'd well; Who first the glittering falchion sway'd, Who first beneath its fury fell, I know not; but I hope to know That for no mean or hireling trade, To guard no feeling base or low, I give my soldier-boy a blade. Cool, calm, and clear, the lucid flood In which its tempering work was done: As calm, as clear, as cool of mood, Be thou whene'er it sees the sun. For country's claim, at honor's call, For outraged friend, insulted maid, At mercy's voice to bid it fall, I give my soldier-boy a blade. The eye which mark'd its peerless edge, The hand that weigh'd its balanced poise, Anvil and pincers, forge and wedge, Are gone with all their flame and noise -- And still the gleaming sword remains; So, when in dust I low am laid, Remember by these heart-felt strains, I gave my soldier-boy a blade. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE STIRRUP-CUP by LOUIS UNTERMEYER THE USES OF POETRY by WILLIAM CARLOS WILLIAMS O SLEEP, MY BABE! by SARA COLERIDGE WHEN THE FROST IS ON THE PUNKIN by JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY PEPITA by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH |