The groan of fallen Hosts; a torrid glare <br />Of cities; battle-cries of Right and Wrong <br />Where armies shout to rocking fleets that roar <br />On thundering oceans to the thundering shore, <br />And high o'er all-long, long prolonged, along <br />The moaning caverns of the plaining air,- <br />The cry of conscious Fate. The firmament <br />Waves from above me like a tattered flag; <br />And as a soldier in his lowly tent <br />Looks up when a shot strikes the helpless rag <br />From o'er him, and beholds the canopy <br />Of Heaven, so, sudden to my startled eye, <br />The Heavens that shall be! The dream fades. I stand <br />Among the mourners of a mourning land.<br /><br />Sydney Thompson Dobell<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/esse-et-posse/
