The Indifferent Ones

Unmoved they sit by the stream of life

And its blood-red tide to the sea goes down,

While the hosts are borne through the surging strife

To a hero's death and a martyr's crown.

They pay no toll of their gold or blood;

For them‘ tis a pageant and naught beside;

So they calmly dream by the reeking flood,

While the sun goes down in the crimson tide.