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I saw the vision of armies |
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And I saw, as in noiseless dreams, hundreds of battle flags |
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Borne through the smoke of the battles |
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And pierced with missiles, I saw them |
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And carried, hither and yon through the smoke, and torn and bloody |
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And at last but a few shreds of the flags left on the staffs |
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And all in silence |
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And the staffs all splintered and broken |
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I saw battle corpses, myriads of them |
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And the white skeletons of young men, I saw them |
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I saw the debris and debris of all dead soldiers |
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But I saw they were not as was thought |
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They themselves were fully at rest, they suffered not |
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The living remained and suffered, the mother suffered |
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And the wife and the child, and the musing comrade suffered |
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And the armies that remained suffered |
