As Toilsome I Wander'd Virginia's Woods

As toilsome I wander’d Virginia’s woods,
To the music of rustling leaves, kick’d by my feet, (for
　　　’twas autumn,)
I mark’d at the foot of a tree the grave of a soldier,
Mortally wounded he, and buried on the retreat, (easily all
　　　could I understand;)
The halt of a mid-day hour, when up! no time to lose--yet
　　　this sign left, 5
On a tablet scrawl’d and nail’d 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, 10
Comes before me the unknown soldier’s grave--comes the
　　　inscription rude in Virginia’s woods,
Bold, cautious, true, and my loving comrade.