The Night March


With banners furled and clarions mute,
  An army passes in the night;
And beaming spears and helms salute
  The dark with bright.
In silence deep the legions stream,
  With open ranks, in order true;
Over boundless plains they stream and
  No chief in view!
Afar, in twinkling distance lost,
  (So legends tell) he lonely wends
And back through all that shining host
  His mandate sends.


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Return to the Herman Melville library , or . . . Read the next poem; The Portent

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