Years past, the tented field was one of war
With cloudbursts of bombs and grave, martial light.
Though those times ever, unwelcome, appear
They are not now here, and the field is bright
Beneath a northern sky flashing colors
Of electric shades in the weird gloaming.
For these tents lie beneath a grand aurora
Whose lights, like sailors, are ever roaming.
And what lights! Like nebulas brought near us,
They make a great glow of serpentine greens,
Blushing pinks, coronary golds, purples
Whose hues before appeared only in dreams.
Such wild and brawling hues that fly by dusk
Make, like dread skies of war, mankind feel slight—
But whereas war’s thunderheads bring horror,
Nature’s aurora brings awe and delight.