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THE BROTHER'S HAND.
And watched him many a moaning after-night,
Through which the shine of spectral steel would go,
Through which lost armies would rise up and fight
Lost battles, in the air—then waver slow
And haze-like down, and whiten toward the dust,
Leaving behind a little blood and rust
And glory. Glory? Why, I do not know.
Through which the shine of spectral steel would go,
Through which lost armies would rise up and fight
Lost battles, in the air—then waver slow
And haze-like down, and whiten toward the dust,
Leaving behind a little blood and rust
And glory. Glory? Why, I do not know.
At last the War's fierce music left the wind,
And they who answered to its infinite cries
With their whole breath were gone where God can find
Them, when He searches land and sea and skies
And Peace remained—a beautiful white veil,
Wrought by hurt hands that dropped off thin and pale,
To hide the tears in wan, wet, restless eyes.
And they who answered to its infinite cries
With their whole breath were gone where God can find
Them, when He searches land and sea and skies
And Peace remained—a beautiful white veil,
Wrought by hurt hands that dropped off thin and pale,
To hide the tears in wan, wet, restless eyes.
And the twin-brothers—one just from his wound—
Talked of their brier-rose that would blossom yet,
Talked of the river with its far-back sound,
Talked of their mother with a still regret,
And of the fairy boat she gave them both:
And then a sudden silence showed them loth
To talk of—what they did not quite forget.
Talked of their brier-rose that would blossom yet,
Talked of the river with its far-back sound,
Talked of their mother with a still regret,
And of the fairy boat she gave them both:
And then a sudden silence showed them loth
To talk of—what they did not quite forget.
