Poetry Archives

His greatness hath not left him; till the years
  Have won the nation from her children dead,
And robbed her of remembrance where she rears
  Her monuments above the blood they shed,
Will his name want for homage; with sad fears
  The Union winds her garlands o’er his head,
And fondly wreathes her love, bedewed with tears,
  To bless the hero on his dying bed.

His luster lives untarnished; as he lies
  Where Malady has bound him in wild pain,
And only Death can loose the heavy chain
  That galls her captive while his nature dies,
He seems far greater in his country’s eyes,
  Than if an Appomattox spake again.