The idea danced before us as a flag; <br />The sound of martial music; <br />The thrill of carrying a gun; <br />Advancement in the world on coming home; <br />A glint of glory, wrath for foes; <br />A dream of duty to country or to God. <br />But these were things in ourselves, shining before us, <br />They were not the power behind us, <br />Which was the Almighty hand of Life, <br />Like fire at earth's center making mountains, <br />Or pent up waters that cut them through. <br />Do you remember the iron band <br />The blacksmith, Shack Dye, welded <br />Around the oak on Bennet's lawn, <br />From which to swing a hammock, <br />That daughter Janet might repose in, reading <br />On summer afternoons? <br />And that the growing tree at last <br />Sundered the iron band? <br />But not a cell in all the tree <br />Knew aught save that it thrilled with life, <br />Nor cared because the hammock fell <br />In the dust with Milton's poems.<br /><br />Edgar Lee Masters<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/many-soldiers/
