Classic Poem

There is a mist between me and the world—
A blue mist that becomes a cavalcade.
In shining ranks I see each bright brigade
March through the fields with wild green flags unfurled.
Whither, O whither is this army whirled?
It storms the flowers in the peaceful glade,
And far away I hear the cannonade
Of thunder at immovable mountains hurled.

Battalions of gray beauty fiercely run,
Their gleaming helmets suddenly ablaze
With fire from the furnace of the sun!
And lo! there is a lifting of the haze,
And routed are the hosts of rain! Release,
After long hours of war—and blessèd Peace!