What soldier guessed that where the stream descended In country dance beneath the colonnade Of elms which cooled the halted troop, it played Sly music, barely noted, never ended? Or who, from war's concerns a moment missed, At some church door turned white as came to him One gold note struck by the hidden organist, One note long-drawn through caverns cool and dim? O marcher, hear. But when thy route and tramp Pause by some falling stream, or holy door, Be the deaf adder; bear not back to camp That embryo music. Double not thy war. Shun all such sweet preclusion. March, sing, roar, Lest perilous silence gnaw thee evermore. |