FROM far Dakota's cañons, <br /> Lands of the wild ravine, the dusky Sioux, the lonesome stretch, the <br /> silence, <br /> Haply to-day a mournful wail, haply a trumpet-note for heroes. <br /> <br /> The battle-bulletin, <br /> The Indian ambuscade, the craft, the fatal environment, <br /> The cavalry companies fighting to the last in sternest heroism, <br /> In the midst of their little circle, with their slaughter'd horses <br /> for breastworks, <br /> The fall of Custer and all his officers and men. <br /> <br /> Continues yet the old, old legend of our race, <br /> The loftiest of life upheld by death, 10 <br /> The ancient banner perfectly maintain'd, <br /> O lesson opportune, O how I welcome thee! <br /> As sitting in dark days, <br /> Lone, sulky, through the time's thick murk looking in vain for light, <br /> for hope, <br /> From unsuspected parts a fierce and momentary proof, <br /> (The sun there at the centre though conceal'd, <br /> Electric life forever at the centre,) <br /> Breaks forth a lightning flash. <br /> <br /> Thou of the tawny flowing hair in battle, <br /> I erewhile saw, with erect head, pressing ever in front, bearing a <br /> bright sword in thy hand, 20 <br /> Now ending well in death the splendid fever of thy deeds, <br /> (I bring no dirge for it or thee, I bring a glad triumphal sonnet,) <br /> Desperate and glorious, aye in defeat most desperate, most glorious, <br /> After thy many battles in which never yielding up a gun or a color <br /> Leaving behind thee a memory sweet to soldiers, <br /> Thou yieldest up thyself.<br /><br />Walt Whitman<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/from-far-dakota-s-canons/
