AS TOILSOME I wander'd Virginia's woods,
 To the music of rustling leaves, kick'd by my feet, (for 'twas
 autumn,)
 I mark'd at the foot of a tree the grave of a soldier,
 Mortally wounded he, and buried on the retreat, (easily all could I
 understand;)
 The halt of a mid-day hour, when up! no time to lose--yet this sign
 left,
 On a tablet scrawl'd and nail'd on the tree by the grave,
 Bold, cautious, true, and my loving comrade.

 Long, long I muse, then on my way go wandering;
 Many a changeful season to follow, and many a scene of life;
 Yet at times through changeful season and scene, abrupt, alone, or in
 the crowded street, 10
 Comes before me the unknown soldier's grave--comes the inscription
 rude in Virginia's woods,
 Bold, cautious, true, and my loving comrade.