To fight aloud, is very brave-
But gallanter, I know
Who charge within the bosom
The Cavalry of Woe-

Who win, and nations do not see-
Who fall-and none observe-
Whose dying eyes, no Country
Regards with patriotic love-
We trust, in plumed procession
For such, The Angels go-
Rank after Rank, with even feet-
And Uniforms of Snow.

Emily Dickinson