Leaves of Grass, by Walt Whitman

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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,

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Yet at times through changeful season and scene, abrupt, alone,
or in the crowded street,

Comes before me the unknown soldier's grave, comes the inscrip-
tion rude in Virginia's woods,

Bold, cautious, true, and my loving comrade.

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