AS TOILSOME I wander'd Virginia's woods, <br /> To the music of rustling leaves, kick'd by my feet, (for 'twas <br /> autumn,) <br /> I mark'd at the foot of a tree the grave of a soldier, <br /> Mortally wounded he, and buried on the retreat, (easily all could I <br /> understand;) <br /> The halt of a mid-day hour, when up! no time to lose--yet this sign <br /> left, <br /> On a tablet scrawl'd and nail'd on the tree by the grave, <br /> Bold, cautious, true, and my loving comrade. <br /> <br /> Long, long I muse, then on my way go wandering; <br /> Many a changeful season to follow, and many a scene of life; <br /> Yet at times through changeful season and scene, abrupt, alone, or in <br /> the crowded street, 10 <br /> Comes before me the unknown soldier's grave--comes the inscription <br /> rude in Virginia's woods, <br /> Bold, cautious, true, and my loving comrade.<br /><br />Walt Whitman<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/as-toilsome-i-wander-d/
