To His Brother

The evening drum has emptied every street,
One autumn goose screams on its frontier flight,
The crystal dew is glittering at my feet.
The moon sheds, as of old, her silvery light.
The brothers, — ah, where are they?
Scattered each;
No home whence one might learn the other's harms.
Letters have oft miscarried: shall they reach
Now when the land rings with the clash of arms?