The Atlantic Monthly, Volume 14, No. 84, October, 1864 by Various
page 25 of 277 (09%)
page 25 of 277 (09%)
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THE RIDE TO CAMP.
When all the leaves were red or brown, Or golden as the summer sun, And now and then came flickering down Upon the grasses hoar and dun, Through which the first faint breath of frost Had as a scorching vapor run, I rode, in solemn fancies lost, To join my troop, whose low tents shone Far vanward to our camping host. Thus as I slowly journeyed on, I was made suddenly aware That I no longer rode alone. Whence came that strange, incongruous pair? Whether to make their presence plain To mortal eyes from earth or air The essence of these spirits twain Had clad itself in human guise, As in a robe, is question vain. I hardly dared to turn my eyes, So faint my heart beat; and my blood, Checked and bewildered with surprise, Within its aching channels stood, And all the soldier in my heart Scarce mustered common hardihood. But as I paused, with lips apart, Strong shame, as with a sturdy arm, Shook me, and made my spirit start, |
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