THE colonel rode by his picket-line In the pleasant morning sun, That glanced from him far off to shine On the crouching rebel picket's gun. From his command the captain strode Out with a grave salute, And talked with the colonel as he rode: -- The picket levelled his piece to shoot. The colonel rode and the captain walked, -- The arm of the picket tired; Their faces almost touched as they talked, And, swerved from his aim, the picket fired, The captain fell at the horse's feet, Wounded and hurt to death, Calling upon a name that was sweet As God is good, with his dying breath. And the colonel that leaped from his horse and knelt To close the eyes so dim, A high remorse for God's mercy felt, Knowing the shot was meant for him. And he whispered, prayer-like, under his breath, The name of his own young wife: For Love, that had made his friend's peace with Death, Alone could make his with life. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TO A SCREEN-MAKER by MARIANNE MOORE LOVE by WILLIAM CARLOS WILLIAMS TO THE BOY by ELIZABETH CLEMENTINE DODGE KINNEY THE EAGLE THAT IS FORGOTTEN by NICHOLAS VACHEL LINDSAY THE FOOL AND THE POET by ALEXANDER POPE CITY OF ORGIES by WALT WHITMAN |