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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=384604" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Camp Fire</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">When night hung low and dew fell damp,<br>There fell athwart the shadows<br>The gleaming watchfires of the camp,<br>Like glow-worms on the meadows.<br>The sentinel his measured beat<br>With measured tread was keeping,<br>While like bronze statues at his feet<br>Lay tired soldiers, sleeping.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>On some worn faces of the men<br>There crept a homesick yearning,<br>Which made it almost seem again,<br>The child-look was returning.<br>While on full many a youthful brow,<br>Till now to care a stranger,<br>The premature grave lines told how<br>They had grown old through danger.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>One, in his slumber, laughed with joy,<br>The laughing echoes mocked him,<br>He thought beside his baby boy<br>He sat and gaily rocked him.<br>O pitying angels! Thou wert kind<br>To end this brief elysian,<br>He found what he no more could find<br>Save in a dreamer's vision.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>The clear note of a mocking bird-<br>That star of sound-came falling<br>Down thro' the night; one, wakeful, heard<br>And answered to the calling,<br>And then upon the ear there broke<br>That sweet, pathetic measure,<br>That song that wakes-as then it woke,<br>Such mingled pain and pleasure.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>One voice at first, and then the sound<br>Pulsed like a great bell's swinging,<br>'Tenting to-night on the old camp ground,'<br>The whole roused camp was singing.<br>The sense of warfare's discontent<br>Gave place to warfare's glory;<br>Right merrily the swift hours went<br>With song, and jest, and story.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>They sang the song of Old John Brown,<br>Whose march goes on forever;<br>It made them thirsty for renown,<br>It fired them with endeavor.<br>So much of that great heart lives still,<br>So much of that great spirit-<br>His very name shoots like a thrill<br>Through all men when they hear it.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>They found in tales of march and fight<br>New courage as they listened,<br>And while they watched the weird camp-light,<br>And while the still stars glistened,<br>Like some stern comrade's voice, there broke<br>And swept from hill to valley<br>'Til all the sleeping echoes woke,-<br>The bugle's call to rally!</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>'To arms! to arms! the foe is near!'<br>Ah, brave hearts were ye equal<br>To hearing through without one fear<br>The whole tale's bloody sequel?<br>The laurel wreath, the victor's cry,<br>These are not all of glory;<br>The gaping wound, the glazing eye,<br>They, too, are in the story.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>And when again their tents were spread,<br>And by campfires they slumbered,<br>The missing faces of the dead<br>The living ones outnumbered.<br>And yet, their memories animate<br>The hearts that still survive them,<br>And holy seems the task, and great,<br>For one hour to revive them.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Ella+Wheeler+Wilcox">Ella Wheeler Wilcox</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=384604" data-title="The Camp Fire de Ella Wheeler Wilcox" data-description="When night hung low and dew fell damp,
There fell athwart the shadows
The gleaming watchfires of the camp,
Like glow-worms on the meadows.
The sentinel his measured beat
With measured tread was keeping,
While like bronze statues at his feet
Lay ti..."></div>
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