Classic Poem

I saw a veteran to-day,
With hobbling foot and staff to stay,
In slow march by the window stray.

— What rank? — There was no epaulet, —
Some humble rank that privates get:
The face said, Hero by brevet .

— What regiment? — I only know
They take the front where'er they go,
As that were badge enough to show.

— No colors? — None that I could see, —
A few gray locks were waving free,
Like shot-torn banners greeting me.

— In service where? — How could I guess?
No boast of battles marred the dress,
But eyes were full of field-success.

— No scars or maim, no empty sleeve? —
Only the smile that sufferings leave
And weary days and nights achieve.

— And all alone, — no comrade-brother? —
Alone, yet loved beyond all other.
— By whom? — By men who call her — Mother!