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Margaret Junkin Preston (Маргарет Джанкин Престон) Only a Private Only a private — and who will care When I may pass away, Or how, or why I perish, or where I mix with the common clay? They will fill my empty place again With another as bold and brave; And they'll blot me out ere the autumn rain Has freshened my nameless grave. Only a private — it matters not That I did my duty well, That all through a score of battles I fought, And then, like a soldier, I fell. The country I died for will never heed My unrequited claim; And History cannot record the deed, For she never has heard my name. Only a private — and yet I know When I heard the rallying-call I was one of the very first to go, And . . . I'm one of the many who fall: But as here I lie, it is sweet to feel That my honor's without a stain, — That I only fought for my country's weal, And not for glory or gain. Only a private — yet He who reads Through the guises of the heart, Looks not at the splendor of the deeds, But the way we do our part; And when He shall take us by the hand, And our small service own, There'll a glorious band of privates stand As victors around the throne! Margaret Junkin Preston's other poems:
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Английская поэзия. Адрес для связи eng-poetry.ru@yandex.ru |