Yet not for him unconscious slumbering there

Yet not for him unconscious slumbering there The maiden mourned; far, far her thoughts were sped With one who late had gone albeit to share A soldier’s lot, fame—or a grave instead; Perchance ’twere both, his fate was still unread. ’Tis thus suspense ill brooks the heart’s control: She turned unto the casement half in dread, As if her thoughts the night-winds could condole; Her smothered words bespeak the anguish of her soul.