A little face there was,
  When all her pains were done,
Beside that face I loved:
  They said it was a son.
A son to me—how strange!—
  Who never was a man,
But lived from change to change
  A boy, as I began.

More boyish still...

Five Forks, April 1, 1865
HO! pony. Down the lonely road
  Strike now your cheeriest pace!
The woods on fire do not burn higher
  Than burns my anxious face;
Far have you sped, but all this night
  Must feel my nervous spur;
If we be late,...