| |
| INTO a ward of the whitewashed halls | |
| Where the dead and the dying lay, | |
| Wounded by bayonets, shells, and balls, | |
| Somebody’s darling was borne one day— | |
| Somebody’s darling, so young and brave; | 5 |
| Wearing yet on his sweet pale face— | |
| Soon to be hid in the dust of the grave— | |
| The lingering light of his boyhood’s grace. | |
| |
| Matted and damp are the curls of gold | |
| Kissing the snow of that fair young brow; | 10 |
| Pale are the lips of delicate mould— | |
| Somebody’s darling is dying now. | |
| Back from his beautiful blue-veined brow | |
| Brush his wandering waves of gold; | |
| Cross his hands on his bosom now— | 15 |
| Somebody’s darling is still and cold. | |
| |
| Kiss him once for somebody’s sake, | |
| Murmur a prayer soft and low; | |
| One bright curl from its fair mates take— | |
| They were somebody’s pride, you know. | 20 |
| Somebody’s hand hath rested here— | |
| Was it a mother’s, soft and white? | |
| Or have the lips of a sister fair | |
| Been baptized in their waves of light? | |
| |
| God knows best. He has somebody’s love, | 25 |
| Somebody’s heart enshrined him there, | |
| Somebody wafts his name above, | |
| Night and morn, on the wings of prayer. | |
| Somebody wept when he marched away, | |
| Looking so handsome, brave, and grand; | 30 |
| Somebody’s kiss on his forehead lay, | |
| Somebody clung to his parting hand. | |
| |
| Somebody ’s watching and waiting for him, | |
| Yearning to hold him again to her heart; | |
| And there he lies with his blue eyes dim, | 35 |
| And the smiling, childlike lips apart. | |
| Tenderly bury the fair young dead— | |
| Pausing to drop on his grave a tear. | |
| Carve on the wooden slab o’er his head: | |
| “Somebody’s darling slumbers here.” | 40 |
| |
