Stoddard, Elizabeth, 1823-1902 / 2008-06-27 00:00:00
"
The foe was silenced--so were we.
I lay upon the field,
Among the Twenty-fourth;
Your picture, shattered on my breast,
Had proved "The Colonel's Shield."
A FEW IDLE WORDS.
So, I must believe that I loved you once!
These letters say so;
And here is your picture--how you have changed!
It was long ago.
The gloss is worn from this lock of black hair--
You can have them all,
And with these treasures a few idle words,
That I will not recall.
What a child I was when you met me first!
Was I handsome then?
I think you remember the very night,
It was half-past ten,
When you came upstairs, so tired of the men,
And tired of the wine;
You said you loved lilies (my dress was white),
And hated to dine.
The dowagers nodded behind their fans;
I played an old song;
You told an old tale, I thought it so new,
And I thought so long.
True, I had read the "Arabian Nights,"
And "Amadis de Gaul;"
But I never had found a modern knight
In our books at the Hall.
You tore your hand with the thorns of the rose
That looped up my sleeve,
And a drop of red blood fell on my arm--
You asked, "Do you grieve?"
That drop of your blood made mine flow fast;
But you sipped your tea
With a nonchalant air, and balanced the spoon,
And balanced poor me,
In the scale with my stocks, and farms, and mines.
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