In the cool, sweet hush of a wooded nook, <br />Where the May buds sprinkle the green old mound, <br />And the winds and the birds and the limpid brook, <br />Murmur their dreams with a drowsy sound; <br />Who lies so still in the plushy moss, <br />With his pale cheek pressed on a breezy pillow, <br />Couched where the light and the shadow cross. <br />Through the flickering fringe of the willow? <br />Who lies, alas! <br />So still, so chill, in the whispering grass? <br /> <br />A soldier clad in the Zouave dress, <br />A bright-haired man with his lips apart, <br />One hand thrown up o'er his frank, dead face, <br />And the other clutching his pulseless heart, <br />Lies here in the shadows, cool and dim, <br />His musket swept by a trailing bough, <br />With a careless grace in each quiet limb, <br />And a wound on his manly brow <br />A wound, alas! <br />Whence the warm blood drips on the quiet grass. <br /> <br />The violets peer from their dusky beds <br />With a tearful dew in their great pure eyes; <br />The lilies quiver their shining heads, <br />Their pale lips full of a sad surprise; <br />And the lizard darts through the glistening fern - <br />And the squirrel rustles the branches hoary; <br />Strange birds fly out, with a cry, to bathe <br />Their wings in the sunset glory; <br />While the shadows pass <br />O'er the quiet face and the dewy grass. <br /> <br />God pity the bride who waits at home. <br />With her lily cheeks and her violet eyes, <br />Dreaming the sweet old dreams of love, <br />While her lover is walking in Paradise; <br />God strengthen her heart as the days go by, <br />And the long, drear nights of her vigil follow, <br />Nor bird, nor moon, nor whispering wind, <br />May breathe the tale of the hollow; <br />Alas! Alas! <br />The secret is safe with the woodland grass.<br /><br />Anonymous Americas<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/missing-87/
