To fight aloud, is very brave-But gallanter, I knowWho charge within the bosomThe Cavalry of Woe-Who win, and nations do not see-Who fall- and none observe-Whose dying eyes, no CountryRegards with patriot love-We trust, in plumed processionFor such, the Angels go-Rank after rank, with even feet-And Uniforms of snow.
-Emily Dickinson
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