Classic Poem

The couplet is the regiment of thought.
O' them seven's a legion of ideas —
A rather larger legion than is taught
Of Rome. Now that most swords are turn'd to shears
The pen more powerful than e'er doth loom.
The measur'd treat of armed men is heard
I' th' sonnet; with rifle crack and cannon boom.
There thunders the power o' the trained word.
The yell of battle shrieks along her lines,
That direful yell that kills the cannon's roar,
Or defies the havoc wrought by bursting mines,
Cheering the brave souls who there do " go before. "
Then — sudden — falls the calm that covers all.
For brave men laurels, and for the dead — a pall.