116
TOO OLD.
He gives no heed to the wild bird's trills,
Or the faint perfume of the daffodils
In the garden grand and old.
Or the faint perfume of the daffodils
In the garden grand and old.
His weird eyes see the snow-white camp
Pitched on the river bank;
He hears the sentry's steady tramp,
And the iron hoofs of the war-horse clamp,—
The spur in his bloody flank.
Pitched on the river bank;
He hears the sentry's steady tramp,
And the iron hoofs of the war-horse clamp,—
The spur in his bloody flank.
He sees the old flag's red and white,
With field of starry blue,
Float proudly through the purple light,
Above the smoke of the deadly fight,
And the soft turfs crimson dew.
With field of starry blue,
Float proudly through the purple light,
Above the smoke of the deadly fight,
And the soft turfs crimson dew.
He hears the crash of shot and shell
And sees the flash of the guns,—
He hears the fifes like a funeral knell,
And the bugle-notes like a silver bell,
And the glorious roll of drums!
And sees the flash of the guns,—
He hears the fifes like a funeral knell,
And the bugle-notes like a silver bell,
And the glorious roll of drums!
"Oh God!" he cries, "for youth again!
For manly strength once more!
I'd strive to the death with might and main
I would not shrink at mortal pain,
Or pale at the battle's roar!
For manly strength once more!
I'd strive to the death with might and main
I would not shrink at mortal pain,
Or pale at the battle's roar!
"My hair is white with age, I know,
But if they'd let me stand
With our brave recruits, before the foe,
Where hot shot falls like winter snow,—
With the flag-staff in my hand,—
But if they'd let me stand
With our brave recruits, before the foe,
Where hot shot falls like winter snow,—
With the flag-staff in my hand,—
