Verse > Anthologies > The World’s Best Poetry > Vol. VIII. National Spirit
Bliss Carman, et al., eds.  The World’s Best Poetry.
Volume VIII. National Spirit.  1904.
III. War
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.
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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