What can I do for you?’[you?’] ‘Promise--that you
Will forward this,’ he said, his fingers clutching
A gold medallion hanging at his breast,
Dabbled in blood, ‘to’--then his latest thoughts
Passed with his latest breath. The loved one’s name,
Mistress or bride affianced, was not told
By that poor Frenchman.
Seeing blazoned arms
On the medallion, I took charge of it,
Hoping to trace her at some future day