Classic Poem

The cloud-barred sunset, o'er the wooded height,
Blazed on, 'mid rolling thunder;
Then, with encrimsoned sword of dazzling light,
Day slashed the woods asunder.

Night fell: the squadrons of the sun were fled, —
Gray ranks of warriors wounded;
From far-off trumpets on that field of red
Rout and defeat were sounded.

But now the Moon, freed from her cloudy bars,
In robes the heavens lend her,
Appears as Peace among her pallid stars
And silvers all with splendor.