That crimsoned the breasts that the battle had slain,
He lay in the shadow—the captain—at rest,
With a lock of gold hair round a face on his breast.
Out in the darkness, all pallid and dumb,
A woman waits long for the captain to come;
And she kisses his portrait. O, pitiful pain!
She shall kiss not the lips of the captain again!
But a woman’s a woman, though loyal and brave,
Love fareth but ill in the gloom of a grave.
The captain lies mute ’neath the stars and the snow,