The lamps now glitter down the street; 
Faintly sound the falling feet; 
And the blue even slowly falls 
About the garden trees and walls. 

Now in the falling of the gloom 
The red fire paints the empty room: 
And warmly on the roof it looks, 
And flickers on the back of books. 

Armies march by tower and spire 
Of cities blazing, in the fire;-- 
Till as I gaze with staring eyes, 
The armies fall, the lustre dies. 

Then once again the glow returns; 
Again the phantom city burns; 
And down the red-hot valley, lo! 
The phantom armies marching go! 

Blinking embers, tell me true 
Where are those armies marching to, 
And what the burning city is 
That crumbles in your furnaces!