Scarce had the bugle note sounded For the call of their last defeat; And still on the lowland meadow Lie the prints of their quick retreat.
Above us the bright skies sparkle, And around us the same winds blow That rippled their golden banners In that battle so long ago,
When the southwind challenged winter, And the rose-ranks routed the snow, And the hosts of tiny gold coats Sprang up from their campfires below,
To charge on the insolent frost king, And shatter his lance of ice, While back to the desolate northland They wheeled him about in a trice.
The battle is hardly ended, The victory only begun, Yet I saw the gray-bearded vet'rans, To-day, sitting out in the sun.
They nod by wind-rippled rivers, They shake in the shade of the oak, And all the day long they murmur And whisper, and gossip, and croak.
And often in wondering rapture, They recount the charge they made, When down from the windy hillsides, And up through the dewy glade,
The sheen of their golden bonnets Shone out from the green of the leaves, Like the flight of a glancing swallow, Or the flash of a wave on the seas.
They muse in sleepy contentment, Or flutter in endless dispute. For this was a brave cadet, sir, And that one a crippled recruit.
Fight over again your battles, O veterans, withered and gray; For a band of northwind chasseurs To-morrow shall blow you away.
Once upon a time it came to pass that a woman, being weary with much running to and fro, fell asleep and dreamed a dream.
And in her dream she beheld a mighty host, more than man could number. And of that host, all were women, and spake with varying tongues.
And they bent the body, and sitting on hard benches wailed mightily, so that the air was full of the sound of lamentation, like a garden that wooeth many bees.
And the woman who dreamed, being tender of heart and disposed kindly toward the suffering ones, lifted up her voice saying:
"Why bendest thou the body, oh, daughters of despair, and why art thine eyelids red with tears?
"Yea, why rockest thou like boats that find no anchor, and like poplars which the north wind smiteth?"
And one from among the host greater than man could number made answer, saying:
"Wouldst know who we are, and why we spend our days like a weaver's shuttle that flitteth to and fro in a web of tears?