One noonday, at my window in the town, <br />I saw a sight - saddest that eyes can see - <br />Young soldiers marching lustily <br />Unto the wars, <br />With fifes, and flags in mottoed pageantry; <br />While all the porches, walks, and doors <br />Were rich with ladies cheering royally. <br /> <br />They moved like Juny morning on the wave, <br />Their hearts were fresh as clover in its prime <br />(It was the breezy summer time), <br />Life throbbed so strong, <br />How should they dream that Death in rosy clime <br />Would come to thin their shining throng? <br />Youth feels immortal, like the gods sublime. <br /> <br />Weeks passed; and at my window, leaving bed, <br />By nights I mused, of easeful sleep bereft, <br />On those brave boys (Ah War! thy theft); <br />Some marching feet <br />Found pause at last by cliffs Potomac cleft; <br />Wakeful I mused, while in the street <br />Far footfalls died away till none were left.<br /><br />Herman Melville<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/ball-s-bluff-a-reverie/
