American poetry -- 19th century; American poetry -- 20th century
Grew up together ’nd wouldn’t speak,
Courted sisters, ’nd marr’d ’em, too;
’Tended same meetin’-house oncet a week,
A-hatin’ each other through ’nd through!
But when Abe Linkern asked the West
F’r soldiers, we answered,—me ’nd Jim,—
_He_ havin’ _his_ opinyin uv _me_,
’Nd _I_ havin’ _my_ opinyin uv _him_.
But down in Tennessee one night
Ther’ wuz sound uv firin’ fur away,
’Nd the sergeant allowed ther’d be a fight
With the Johnnie Rebs some time nex’ day;
’Nd as I wuz thinkin’ uv Lizzie ’nd home
Jim stood afore me, long ’nd slim,—
_He_ havin’ _his_ opinyin uv _me_,
’Nd _I_ havin’ _my_ opinyin uv _him_.
Seemed like we knew there wuz goin’ to be
Serious trouble f’r me ’nd him;
Us two shuck hands, did Jim ’nd me,
But never a word from me or Jim!
He went _his_ way ’nd _I_ went _mine_,
’Nd into the battle’s roar went we,—
_I_ havin’ _my_ opinyin of Jim,
’Nd _he_ havin’ _his_ opinyin uv _me_.
Jim never came back from the war again,
But I hain’t forgot that last, last night
When, waitin’ f’r orders, us two men
Made up ’nd shuck hands, afore the fight,
’Nd after it all, it’s soothin’ to know
That here I be ’nd younder’s Jim,—
_He_ havin’ _his_ opinyin uv _me_,
’Nd _I_ havin’ _my_ opinyin uv _him_.
LITTLE BOY BLUE[10]
The little toy dog is covered with dust,
But sturdy and staunch he stands;
The little toy soldier is red with rust,
And his musket moulds in his hands.
Time was when the little toy dog was new,
And the soldier was passing fair;
And that was the time when our Little Boy Blue
Kissed them and put them there.
“Now don’t you go till I come,” he said,
“And don’t you make any noise!”
So, toddling off to his trundle bed,
He dreamt of the pretty toys;
And, as he was dreaming, an angel song
Awakened our Little Boy Blue—
Oh! the years are many, the years are long,
But the little toy friends are true!
Ay, faithful to Little Boy Blue they stand,
Each in the same old place,
Awaiting the touch of a little hand,
The smile of a little face;
And they wonder, as waiting the long years through
In the dust of that little chair,
What has become of our Little Boy Blue,
Since he kissed them and put them there.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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