The Bloody Bouquet On The Road To Richmond Poem by Janet Hamilton

Swept the storm of battle by,
'Neath Virginia's glowing sky;
Left alone to bleed and die,
Lay a wounded boy.
From the battle-field he crept-
Found a couch of flowers and slept;
Shall he die alone, unwept,
A widowed mother's joy?


Now the blood had ceased to flow
From the gash that scarred his brow-
Grasping an o'erhanging bough,
Half reclined he lay.
Clotted blood had sealed his eyes:
He wiped it; then, with sweet surprise,
Gazed on flowers whose rainbow dyes
Adorned each pendant spray.


The showering petals off he threw-
Fragrant cups that brimm'd with dew,
To his parched lips he drew-
A life-reviving treasure.
Nature, in her kindly arms,
Held the boy: her simple charms
Soothed his pains, forbade alarms,
And brimm'd his eyes with pleasure.


'Lovely flowers!' he cried, 'how sweet!'
Vain he strove to gain his feet;
Shall the mother ever greet,
With fond embrace, her boy!
Help was near: a party found
The youth, and raised him from the ground-
Bathed and dressed each festered wound,
And sent him on with joy.


In his hand a bouquet rare
Held he-Southern violets fair-
Lilies of the vale were there-
He culled them where he lay.
Nature's charms have magic power,
Even in dread and dangerous hour-
Hue, or fragrance of a flower,
May cheer the saddest day.