Arthur Quiller-Couch, comp. The Oxford Book of Victorian Verse. 1922.
What the Bullet SangBret Harte (18361902)
O
To be!
O rapture, to fly
And be free!
Be the battle lost or won,
Though its smoke shall hide the sun,
I shall find my love—the one
Born for me!
All alone,
With the power in his hands
Not o’erthrown;
I shall know him by his face,
By his godlike front and grace,
I shall hold him for a space
All my own!
So bold!
It is I—all thy love
Foretold!
It is I—O love, what bliss!
Dost thou answer to my kiss?
O sweetheart! what is this
Lieth there so cold?