And in the Spring's benignant reign,
The sweet May woke her harp of pines;
Teaching her choir a thrilling strain
Of jubilee to land and main,
She danced in emerald down the lines.
Denying largesse bright to none,
She saw no difference in the signs
That told who slept at Arlington.
She gave her grasses and her showers
To all alike who dreamed in dust;
Her song-birds wove their dainty bowers
Amid the jasmine buds and flowers,
And piped with an impartial trust;
Waifs of the air and liberal sun,
Their guileless glees were kind and just
To friend and foe at Arlington.
And 'mid the generous spring there came
Some women of the land, who strove
To make this funeral-field of fame
Glad as the May-God's altar-flame,
With rosy wreaths of mutual love
Unmindful who had lost or won,
They scorned the jargon of a name-
No North, no South, at Arlington.
[ 51 ]
