Bliss Carman, et al., eds. The World’s Best Poetry.
Volume VIII. National Spirit. 1904. | | | | III. War | | All | | Francis Alexander Durivage (1814–1881) |
| | | THERE hangs a sabre, and there a rein, | |
| With a rusty buckle and green curb chain; | |
| A pair of spurs on the old gray wall, | |
| And a mouldy saddle—well, that is all. | |
| |
| Come out to the stable—it is not far; | 5 |
| The moss grown door is hanging ajar. | |
| Look within! There ’s an empty stall, | |
| Where once stood a charger, and that is all. | |
| |
| The good black horse came riderless home, | |
| Flecked with blood drops as well as foam; | 10 |
| See yonder hillock where dead leaves fall; | |
| The good black horse pined to death—that ’s all. | |
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| All? O, God! it is all I can speak. | |
| Question me not—I am old and weak; | |
| His sabre and his saddle hang on the wall, | 15 |
| And his horse pined to death—I have told you all. | | | | |
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