Sara Teasdale — The Silent Battle

He was a soldier in that fight        &nbsp Where there is neither flag nor drum, And without sound of musketry        &nbsp The stealthy foemen come. Year in, year out, by day and night        &nbsp They forced him to a slow retreat, And for his gallant fight alone        &nbsp No fife was blown, and no drum beat. In winter fog, in gathering mist        &nbsp The gray grim battle had its end— And at the very last we knew        &nbsp His enemy had turned his friend.