Emily Dickinson — Forgotten

There is a word    Which bears a sword    Can pierce an armed man. It hurls its barbed syllables,—    At once is mute again. But where it fell The saved will tell    On patriotic day, Some epauletted brother    Gave his breath away. Wherever runs the breathless sun,    Wherever roams the day, There is its noiseless onset,    There is its victory! Behold the keenest marksman!    The most accomplished shot! Time's sublimest target    Is a soul 'forgot'!