Oh! the dew-wet grass of the meadow in North Carolina <br />Through which Rebecca followed me wailing, wailing, <br />One child in her arms, and three that ran along wailing, <br />Lengthening out the farewell to me off to the war with the British, <br />And then the long, hard years down to the day of Yorktown. <br />And then my search for Rebecca, <br />Finding her at last in Virginia, <br />Two children dead in the meanwhile. <br />We went by oxen to Tennessee, <br />Thence after years to Illinois, <br />At last to Spoon River. <br />We cut the buffalo grass, <br />We felled the forests, <br />We built the school houses, built the bridges, <br />Leveled the roads and tilled the fields <br />Alone with poverty, scourges, death- <br />If Harry Wilmans who fought the Filipinos <br />Is to have a flag on his grave <br />Take it from mine!<br /><br />Edgar Lee Masters<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/john-wasson/
