Inconceivably solemn,
Things too gay
Pierce by the very press
Of imagery.
Their far parades
Halt on the eye
With a mute pomp,
A pleading pageantry.
Flags are a brave sight,
But no true eye
Ever went by one
Steadily.
Music’s triumphant,
But a fine ear
Aches with delight
The drums to hear.
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