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Eugene Field - Soldier, Maiden, and Flower
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"Sweetheart, take this," a soldier said,
  "And bid me brave good-by;
It may befall we ne`er shall wed,
  But love can never die.
Be steadfast in thy troth to me,
  And then, whate`er my lot,
`My soul to God, my heart to thee,`—
  Sweetheart, forget me not!"

The maiden took the tiny flower
  And nursed it with her tears:
Lo! he who left her in that hour
  Came not in after years.
Unto a hero`s death he rode
  `Mid shower of fire and shot;
But in the maiden`s heart abode
  The flower, forget-me-not.

And when he came not with the rest
  From out the years of blood,
Closely unto her widowed breast
  She pressed a faded bud;
Oh, there is love and there is pain,
  And there is peace, God wot,—
And these dear three do live again
  In sweet forget-me-not.

`T is to an unmarked grave to-day
  That I should love to go,—
Whether he wore the blue or gray,
  What need that we should know?
"He loved a woman," let us say,
  And on that sacred spot,
To woman`s love, that lives for aye,
  We`ll strew forget-me-not.

1887.
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