Emily Dickinson

To fight aloud, is very brave - 
But gallanter, I know
Who charge within the bosom
The Calvalry of Woe - 

Who win, and nations do not see - 
Who fall - and none observe - 
Whose dying eyes, no Country
Regards with patriot love - 

We trust, in plumed procession
For such, the Angels go -
Rank after Rank, with even feet -
And Uniforms of snow.