Menken, Adah Isaacs
O soldiers, leave him to me!
The morning, bridgegroomed by the sun, cannot look
down to the midnight for comfort.
In the thick front of battle I claimed what is mine own.
I saw the Grim Foe open wide his red-leafed book, but
he wrote not therein the name of my brave love.
Life hath no change that he cannot combat with a
Now he wearies from the struggling grace of a brave
He sleeps, he sleeps.