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O my darling! my youngest and fairest,
Whom I gathered so close to my breast;
I called thee my dearest and rarest,
And thou wast my purest and best!
I tell thee, O friend!, as a mother,
Whose full heart is breaking to-day,
The Infinite Father—none other—
Can know what He's taken away!
I thank you once more for your kindness;
For this lock of his auburn hair;—
Perhaps 'tis the one I in blindness
Last touched, as we parted just there!
When he asked, through his tears, should he linger
From duty? I answered him, Nay;
And he smiled as he placed on my finger
The ring I am wearing to-day
I watched him leap into that meadow;
Where, a child, he with others had played;
I saw him pass slowly the shadow
Of the trees where his father was laid;
And there, where the road meets two others,
Without turning he went on his way;
Once his face toward the foe—not his mother's
Should unman him, or cause him delay.
It may be that some day your duty
Will carry you that way again;
When the field shall be riper in beauty,
Enriched by the blood of the slain;
Will you see if the grasses are growing
On the grave of my boy? Will you see
If a flower, e'en the smallest, is blowing,
And pluck it, and send it to me?
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