'Tis sunset. For the Blue, a gleam
Of glory fills the dying day;
From clouds above that sunset stream
Another glory for the Gray.
1887
They meet again—not steel to steel,
But hand to hand and breast to breast,
Hailed by the cannon's peaceful peal—
The Blue the host, the Gray the guest.
* * * * *
And so they share—the brave and true,
The glory of that fateful day;
The Gray the glory of the Blue,
The Blue the glory of the Gray.
* * * * *
'Tis sunset. From yon heaven away
Fades every golden, purple hue;
O'er host and guest, the twilight gray
Blends with the evening sky of blue.
In "McMahon at Sedan" he strikes the martial measure with trumpet note. Many more stirring war lyrics could not easily be found.
But his muse was also often pensive, and in that mood he softly sings as if to himself alone. Among the best of these poems of reflection are "A Memory," "Alone," "Nebulae," and "Look Up." In them the visions and the melody evoked are often strangely beautiful and haunting; but a depressing undertone like a sigh runs through them all.