As Toilsome I Wanderd Virginias Woods

  As toilsome I wanderd Virginias woods,
  To the music of rustling leaves kickd by my feet, (for twas autumn,)
  I markd at the foot of a tree the grave of a soldier;
  Mortally wounded he and buried on the retreat, (easily all could
      understand,)
  The halt of a mid-day hour, when up! no time to lose--yet this sign left,
  On a tablet scrawld and naild on the tree by the grave,
  Bold, cautious, true, and my loving comrade.

  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 soldiers grave, comes the inscription
      rude in Virginias woods,
  Bold, cautious, true, and my loving comrade.