Classic Poem

They should have gone forth with banners,
With the sounding and resounding of many trumpets,
Then, in the midst thereof,
Her terrible head bound with laurels and gold,
Victory, her broad wings
Fanning the air with a light and rumor of gold,
Her bloody feet leaving their stain on the highway
And her high sword pointing the way they were to go.

But they went forth silently,
With heads bowed,
With backs bent under strong burdens
And a fitful smile of pity on their closed lips,
Seeing how little a thing it is to die.