As Toilsome I Wander'd

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