Soldier, Maiden, and Flower
"Sweetheart, take this," a soldier said,"And bid me brave good-by;It may befall we ne'er shall wed,But love can never die.Be steadfast in thy troth to me,And then, whate'er my lot,'My soul to God, my heart to thee,'--Sweetheart, forget me not!"
The maiden took the tiny flowerAnd nursed it with her tears:Lo! he who left her in that hourCame not in after years.Unto a hero's death he rode'Mid shower of fire and shot;But in the maiden's heart abodeThe flower, forget-me-not.
And when he came not with the restFrom out the years of blood,Closely unto her widowed breastShe pressed a faded bud;Oh, there is love and there is pain,And there is peace, God wot,--And these dear three do live againIn sweet forget-me-not.
'T is to an unmarked grave to-dayThat I should love to go,--Whether he wore the blue or gray,What need that we should know?"He loved a woman," let us say,And on that sacred spot,To woman's love, that lives for aye,We'll strew forget-me-not.
Words in this poem
- shall v. i.
- To owe; to be under obligation for. [OE. shal, schal, imp. sholde, scholde, AS. scal, sceal, I am obliged, imp. scolde, sceolde, inf. sculan; akin to OS. skulan, pres. skal, imp. skolda, D. zullen,]
- troth n.
- Belief; faith; fidelity. [A variant of truth. See Truth.]
- rode n.
- Redness; complexion. [See Rud.]
- abode n.
- Act of waiting; delay. [OE. abad, abood, fr. abiden to abide. See Abide. For the change of vowel, cf. abode, imp. of abide.]
Definitions and etymologies from Webster's Unabridged Dictionary, 1913.
About this text
Soldier, Maiden, and Flower is in the public domain. This text is taken from A Little Book of Western Verse, Project Gutenberg ebook #9606; the transcription's header, footer and licence were removed and nothing else was changed. You may copy, print and reuse it freely.
Cite as: Eugene Field, Soldier, Maiden, and Flower, in A Little Book of Western Verse (1889), text of Project Gutenberg ebook #9606, Laurel, https://laurelpoetry.com/poem/field-western-verse/soldier-maiden-and-flower.html, id L24647.
Form and metre
Soldier, Maiden, and Flower is 32 lines in 4 stanzas of 8 lines each. The rhyme scheme is ABABCDCD, complete in 2 of its 4 stanzas. The metre is iambic tetrameter, measured from the stress the words themselves fix (confidence 90%).
See other poems in iambic tetrameter.
Measured by Laurel's pipeline, not copied from a handbook: how stress and metre are counted, how rhyme is lettered, how a drifted rhyme is found. Where the dictionary cannot confirm a rhyme the letter is withheld, not guessed.
Rhyme words, stanza by stanza
The word that ends each line, lettered by the rhyme it makes; a dash is a line whose rhyme the dictionary could not confirm.
- 1 ABABCDCD saidA · byB · wedA · dieB · meC · lotD · theeC · notD
- 2 ABABCDCD flowerA · tearsB · hourA · yearsB · rodeC · shotD · abodeC · notD
- 3 ABABC-C- restA · bloodB · breastA · budB · painC · wot · againC · not
- 4 ABABAC-C dayA · goB · grayA · knowB · sayA · spotC · aye · notC
Scansion, line by line
Each line with its syllable count and the stresses the words themselves fix: / stressed, ˘ unstressed, · a syllable the word leaves free and the metre decides. Read against iambic tetrameter. How this is done.
| Line | Syl. | Stress |
|---|---|---|
| "Sweetheart, take this," a soldier said, | 8 | /····/˘· |
| "And bid me brave good-by; | 6 | ······ |
| It may befall we ne'er shall wed, | 8 | ··˘/···· |
| But love can never die. | 6 | ···/˘· |
| Be steadfast in thy troth to me, | 8 | ·/······ |
| And then, whate'er my lot, | 7 | ··˘˘/·· |
| 'My soul to God, my heart to thee,'-- | 8 | ········ |
| Sweetheart, forget me not!" | 6 | /·˘/·· |
| The maiden took the tiny flower | 9 | ·/˘··/˘/˘ |
| And nursed it with her tears: | 6 | ······ |
| Lo! he who left her in that hour | 9 | ·······/˘ |
| Came not in after years. | 6 | ······ |
| Unto a hero's death he rode | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| 'Mid shower of fire and shot; | 8 | ·/˘·/˘·· |
| But in the maiden's heart abode | 8 | ···/˘·˘/ |
| The flower, forget-me-not. | 7 | ·/˘˘/·· |
| And when he came not with the rest | 8 | ········ |
| From out the years of blood, | 6 | ······ |
| Closely unto her widowed breast | 8 | /˘···/˘· |
| She pressed a faded bud; | 6 | ···/˘· |
| Oh, there is love and there is pain, | 8 | ········ |
| And there is peace, God wot,-- | 6 | ······ |
| And these dear three do live again | 8 | ······˘/ |
| In sweet forget-me-not. | 6 | ··˘/·· |
| 'T is to an unmarked grave to-day | 9 | ····˘/··· |
| That I should love to go,-- | 6 | ······ |
| Whether he wore the blue or gray, | 8 | ········ |
| What need that we should know? | 6 | ······ |
| "He loved a woman," let us say, | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| And on that sacred spot, | 6 | ···/˘· |
| To woman's love, that lives for aye, | 8 | ·/˘····· |
| We'll strew forget-me-not. | 6 | ··˘/·· |
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