The Battle

The night had passed. The day had come, Bright-born, into a cloudless sky: We heard the rolling of the drum, And saw the war-flags fly.

And noon had crowded upon morn Ere Conflict shook her red locks far, And blew her brazen battle-horn Upon the hills of War.

Noon darkened into dusk--one blot Of nightmare lit with hell-born suns;-- We heard the scream of shell and shot And booming of the guns.

On batteries of belching grape We saw the thundering cavalry Hurl headlong,--iron shape on shape,-- With shout and bugle-cry.

When dusk had moaned and died, and night Came on, wind-swept and wild with rain, We slept, ’mid many a bivouac light, And vast fields heaped with slain.