Classic Poem

But only for a moment was the light,
And only for a moment was the joy.
Upon the summit of his battle dream
His marvelling eyes beheld the Blue Reserves
Rush from the rear along the Union Ridge
Unchained and inchoate, a vast outburst
Of riotous flame as from volcanian deeps.
He saw — his flushed face blanching — suddenly
Garnett fall from his horse; then Kemper fall
And borne back by his men; then Armistead,
Past the Stone Wall rushing with lifted blade,
Sink close by Cushing's gun; then Pickett turn,
His bare sword flashing o'er the broken ranks,
Unscathed as by a miracle, and lead
His shattered remnant back; then backward rush
A gray-hued avalanche of Southern braves
Falling and falling as they wildly fled;
And all the field a-crimson, and his dead
Strewn as the Autumn forest leaves are strewn
Dead on the earth. And as he fiercely gazed
Lo, his majestic dream crumbled to dust, —
And his heart broke.
There in that desperate hour
He turned his war-worn face back towards Virginia,
And saw, as only soldier-seer could see,
Beyond the Rapidan, past Petersburg,
Cross bloody battle lines and gory trenches,
Through Winter's tragic snows and Springtime's hunger,
With all its battered banners falling, trailing,
Down the steep slopes of failure and destruction,
The Lost Cause staggering to Appomattox,
His people's vision and their exultation
Become a horror and a mighty moaning
And a great darkness, — for hope's sun had set.

So sat he there against the sun as passed
Before him with black ruin round his feet
The White Battalions moving as to music
Across the crimson field among the dead.