Stedman and Hutchinson, comps. A Library of American Literature:
An Anthology in Eleven Volumes. 1891.
Vols. IX–XI: Literature of the Republic, Part IV., 1861–1889
Loss
By James Herbert Morse (18411923)T
Brightly on land and sea,
And I from the pine grove could see her,
As I leaned against a tree.
As she slowly rode through the sky,
And I said to her softly and sadly:
“Pale moon, far off and high,
All still they lie, and white;
And thou pourest thy holy splendor
O’er all of them, night by night.
’Tis little and lonely and bare;
But O shine down more softly,
Sweet moon, when thou comest there!”
I came to an inland river,—
For on, from state to state,
With a burden not easy to carry,
I have wandered much of late,—
I sat down, the river nigh,
And my shadow sat there beside me,
For the moon was full and high.
“O River, why sighest thou so?”—
“There are so many tombstones
On my banks, wherever I go!”
O River, I cannot blame.”
And I dropped my head on my bosom,
My shadow did the same.