Before Sedan

 “The dead hand clasped a letter.” —SPECIAL CORRESPONDENT.     HERE in this leafy place,   Quiet he lies, Cold, with his sightless face   Turned to the skies; ’T is but another dead;— All you can say is said. Carry his body hence,—   Kings must have slaves; Kings climb to eminence   Over men’s graves. So this man’s eye is dim;— Throw the earth over him. What was the white you touched,   There at his side? Paper his hand had clutched   Tight ere he died; Message or wish, may be:— Smooth out the folds and see. Hardly the worst of us   Here could have smiled!— Only the tremulous   Words of a child:— Prattle, that had for stops Just a few ruddy drops. Look. She is sad to miss,   Morning and night, His—her dead father’s—kiss,   Tries to be bright, Good to mamma, and sweet. That is all. “Marguerite.” Ah, if beside the dead   Slumbered the pain! Ah, if the hearts that bled   Slept with the slain! If the grief died!—But no:— Death will not have it so.