Happy, not knowing defeat, Garnett, the gallant, and happy
Armistead leaping the wall, lifting his cap on his sword-point,
Smiting his hand on the cannon, and suddenly sinking across it!
Not for them the crawl of the sick slow days of the captive,
Torture of wounds, nor bruit of the perishing cause that they fought for—
Rather swift conquest of Peace, and to enter the City of Silence!
Not for them be sorrow; but sorrow for such men as haply,
Flung on the flag of the South as it burst through the line of the Union,
Fell, and died in their doubt, and knew not the sweep of the darkness
Over their faces upturned was the passing of Victory’s garment!