Page:Oxford Book of English Verse 1250-1918.djvu/745

 CHARLES WOLFE

But half of our heavy task was done

When the clock struck the hour for retiring;

And we heard the distant and random gun That the foe was sullenly firing.

Slowly and sadly we laid him down,

From the field of his fame fresh and gory;

We carved not a line, and we raised not a stone, But we left him alone with his glory.

��6 ii To Mary

PF I had thought thou couldst have died,

I might not weep for thee; But I forgot, when by thy side,

That thou couldst mortal be: It never through my mind had past

The time would e'er be o'er, And I on thee should look my last,

And thou shouldst smile no more'

And still upon that face I look,

And think 'twill smile again; And still the thought I will not brook,

That I must look in vain. But when I speak thou dobt not say

What thou ne'er left'st unsaid; And now I feel, as well I may,

Sweet Mary, thou art dead*

If thou wouldst stay, e'en as thou art, All cold and all serene

I still might press thy silent heart, And where thy smiles have been.

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