The Battlefield At Night - Poem by George Sterling
When on war's wounded falls the final sleep,
How beautiful shall silence be to those
On whom till then the sounds of carnage close
And tramping billows of the conflict sweep!
A camp unsentineled that host shall keep,
Nor countersign reveal its friends and foes;
And In that zone of death shall be repose
More kind than love, and than the dark more deep.
But now unceasing thunders tread the night,
'Mid flamings and cessations of the light.
And the faint sense delays ere death to hark
The bellowing of guns against the sky,
And, as the decimating cannon cry,
The mangled horses screaming in the dark.
Comments about The Battlefield At Night by George Sterling
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
Do Not Stand At My Grave And Weep
Mary Elizabeth Frye