The Silent Battle

A poem by Sara Teasdale

(In Memory of J. W. T. Jr.)

He was a soldier in that fight
Where there is neither flag nor drum,
And without sound of musketry
The stealthy foemen come.

Year in, year out, by day and night
They forced him to a slow retreat,
And for his gallant fight alone
No fife was blown, and no drum beat.

In winter fog, in gathering mist
The gray grim battle had its end,
And at the very last we knew
His enemy had turned his friend.

Reader Comments

Tell us what you think of 'The Silent Battle' by Sara Teasdale

comments powered by Disqus