Go marching with the marching street—
For yonder, yonder goes the fife,
And what care I for human life!
The tears fill my astonished eyes,
And my full heart is like to break;
And yet ’tis all embannered lies,
A dream those little drummers make.
O, it is wickedness to clothe
Yon hideous grinning thing that stalks,
Hidden in music, like a queen,