by Elizabeth Stuart Phelps
If it might only be
That in the singing sea,
The living, lighted sea,
There were a place for you to creep
Away, among the tinted weeds, and sleep, --
A cradled, curtained place for you
To take the happy rest for two!
And then if it might be
Appointed unto me
(God knows how sweet to me!)
To plunge into the sharp surprise
Of burning battle's blood and dust and cries,
And face the hottest fire for you,
And fight the bitter fight for two!
James R. Osgood And Company, Boston