Bliss Carman, et al., eds. The World’s Best Poetry. 1904.
III. WarThe Two Wives
William Dean Howells (18371920)T
In the pleasant morning sun,
That glanced from him far off to shine
On the crouching rebel picket’s gun.
Out with a grave salute,
And talked with the colonel as he rode:—
The picket levelled his piece to shoot.
The arm of the picket tired;
Their faces almost touched as they talked,
And, swerved from his aim, the picket fired.
Wounded and hurt to death,
Calling upon a name that was sweet
As God is good, with his dying breath.
To close the eyes so dim,
A high remorse for God’s mercy felt,
Knowing the shot was meant for him.
The name of his own young wife:
For Love, that had made his friend’s peace with Death,
Alone could make his with life.