“Cease firing!” Lo, the bugles call—
“Cease!” and the red flame dies away.
The thunders sleep; along the gray
Smoke-shrouded hills the echoes fall.
“Cease firing!” Close the columns fold
Their shattered wings; the weary troops
Now stand at ease; the ensign droops;
The heated chargers’ flanks turn cold.
“Cease firing!” Down, with point reversed,
The reeking, crimson sabre drips;