BY SHERIDAN’S GRAVE.
I STOOD upon the heights at Arlington,
And saw Potomac’s waters seaward flowing,
While all about me, past our human knowing
The soldiers lay—men who that soil had won
From enemies as brave, who would not shun
The wrath that followed on their whirlwind sowing,
And there among their graves the flowers were growing,
And on Virginia shone the springtime sun.
Here lies the idol of my boyish dreaming,
Beside the storied river that had known
The camp-fires of a mighty army, gleaming
Where peace to-day her snowy scarf has thrown.
Sleep, Sheridan, beyond this world of seeming,
Your spirit guard this valley as its own!