In glades they meet skull after skull
Where pine cones lay-the rusted gun,
Green shoes full of bones,
the mouldering coat And cuddled up skeleton;
And scores of such.
Some start as in dreams,
And comrades lost bemoan;
By the edge of those wilds Stonewall had charged-
But the year and the Man were gone.

Battle-Pieces and Aspects of the War (ed. Library of Alexandria, 1866)