Other work than to wait behind,
Through midnight dew and noonday drouth,—
To wait behind, and fear, and pray!
O, if a soldier’s wife could say,—
‘Where thou goest, I will go;
Kiss thee ere thou meet’st the foe;
Where thou lodgest, worst or best,
Share and soothe thy broken rest!’
—Alas, to stifle her pain, and wait,
This was ever a woman’s fate!