Towards democracy

412 Towards Democracy

May-be the least, unworthiest as the world would say Yet even so sufficient—for blest the hour

Which brings what, else, Eternity would miss! Another day the worthiest may claim me;

To-day we two alone will be the world:

And Love, the Lord of all; shall dwell between us.

Tue Drap COMRADE

HERE among the woods, after the battle returning, In a little open spot—how well I remember it—

Where the ground was red with the blood of my lover, my dead comrade,

{Him whom to save I would have died so gladly, O so gladly,

Whom I could not at any time bear to see suffer even a little hurt,

So tenderly we loved, so tenderly, ]

There on the stained red ground, in the midst of the clotted precious blood, not even yet dry, stood a small yellow flower—

The little Cow-wheat they call it, with its slender yellow blossoms in pairs, and its faint-tinged lips.

And now in the woods each year—in the silent beautiful woods, so calm, so sweet—though the same flowers spring by | hundreds—

Not a word do they utter of that awful scene, not a word

of all that carmage,