War Poetry of the South

by Unknown

III.

Slowly, ah! mournfully, slowly they go,
Bearing the young and the brave,
Fair as the summer, but white as the snow
Bearing them down to the grave.
Some in the morning, and some in the noou,
Some in the hey-day of life;
Bower nor blossom, nor summer nor June,
Wooing them back to the strife.