]
"He turned his face and fixed his lustrous eyes
Upon mine own inquiringly, and held
His gaze upon me till his vacant stare
Told me full well his thoughts had wandered back
Into the depth of his own silent soul;
Then he looked down and sadly smiled and said:
"'Captain, I have no history--not one page;
My book of life is but a blotted blank.
Let it be sealed; I would not open it,
Even to one who saved a worthless life,
Only to add a few more leaves in blank
To the blank volume. All that I now am
I offer to my country. If I live
And from this cot walk forth, 'twill only be
To march and fight and march and fight again,'
Until a surer aim shall bring me down
Where care and kindness can no more avail.
Under our country's flag a soldier's death
I hope to die and leave no name behind.
My only wish is this--for what I am,
Or have been, or have hoped to be, is now
A blank misfortune. I will say no more.'
"I questioned Paul and pressed him further still
To tell his story, but he only shook
His head in silence sadly and lay back
And closed his eyes and whispered--'All is blank.'
That night he muttered often in his sleep;
I could not catch the sense of what he said;
I caught a name that he repeated oft--
_Pauline_--so softly whispered that I knew
She was the blissful burden of his dreams.
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