English poem
_A Grave._
by Walt Whitman
1.
As toilsome I wandered Virginia's woods, To the music of rustling leaves kicked by my feet--for 'twas autumn-- I marked 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 scrawled and nailed on the tree by the grave, Bold, cautious, true, and my loving comrade.
2.
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.