Reveille

Still bathed in its moonlight slumber, the little white house by the cedar

Stands silent against the red dawn;

And nothing I know of who sleeps there, to the travail of day yet unwakened,

Behind the blue curtains undrawn:

But I dream as we march down the roadway, ringing loud and white-rimed in the moonlight,

Of a little dark house on a hill

Wherein when the battle is over, to the rapture of day yet unwakened,

We shall slumber as dreamless and still.