SLEEP, soldier of the South, who loved me well! In many a heart is heard thy passing bell, Here in the North where thy last labor was, And down lone valleys of the long lost cause Where thy young mates, lapped in heroic sleep, Their green peace, envied of the living, keep. The harder lot was thine — to live and toil That sons as noble grace their native soil. Sleep, gentle scholar of the golden lore Of English speech, who from thy Attic store Brought mastery of all tongues that poets use And Europe ripens, sacred to the Muse! O loyal nature, learnèd, eloquent, Whose kindly courtesy to all men went, I praise thee not for these, though worthy praise; These have I found not seldom in life's ways. But the sweet patience which adorned thy life, To take the blows of this half-brutish strife, And, if on thee some natural griefs must rain, With quietness to dignify thy pain — This, more than all the Muses' garnered art, Taught reverence to my eyes, love to my heart; For thou hadst borne the worst, and learned to bear All lesser sorrows in one great despair. O much enduring soul who enterest peace, Still shall our love for thee on earth increase; Now, poet, scholar, soldier, on death's plain Sleep with thy early friends in battle slain! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TO DICK, ON HIS SIXTH BIRTHDAY by SARA TEASDALE CUDDLE DOON by ALEXANDER ANDERSON THE TEACHER by LESLIE PINCKNEY HILL SONNET: ADDRESSED TO HAYDON (1) by JOHN KEATS AFTER DEATH by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI AUTUMN: A DIRGE by PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY ON THE STATUE OF AN ANGEL, BY BIENAIME by WASHINGTON ALLSTON HINTS OF AN HISTORICAL PLAY TO BE CALLED WILLIAM RUFUS by RICHARD HARRIS BARHAM |