Give me a race that is run in a breath,
Straight from the start to the “tape;”
Distance hath charms, but a “Ding Dong” means death,
Death without flowers and crape.
“On your mark,” “Set,”—for a moment we strain,
Held by a leash all unseen;
“P’ff,” we are off, from the pistol we gain
Yards, if the starter’s not keen.
...
The Young LOVERS
I SAW them kissing in the shade and knew the sum of all my lore:
God gave them Youth, God gave them Love, and even God can give no more.
I know not from the fading Rose with parted lips what whisper went.
I only know the Nightingale sang once again his old lament.
YOUTH AND AGE
A NIGHTINGALE once lost his voice from too much...
[September, 1861]
we are coming, Father Abraham, three hundred thousand more!
From Mississippi’s winding stream and from New England’s shore;
We leave our ploughs and workshops, our wives and children dear,
With hearts too full for utterance, with but a silent tear;
We dare not look behind us, but steadfastly before:
We are coming, Father Abraham...
