[THE DAYS]
A long grim corridor—a sullen bar
Of light athwart the darkness—where no fleet
Pale sunshine spreads for dark his winding sheet
A light, not born of noon nor placid star
Glows lurid thro' the gloom—while from afar,
Beats marching of innumerable feet.
Is this the place where tragic armies meet?
The throb of terror that presages war?—
I strain to see, then softly on my sight