The clock moved on, the delirium began. The watchers listened, trying to catch the words; Some awed, one broken-hearted, a few, no doubt, Not glad to be there precisely, but in a way Glad that, if it must happen, they could be there. It is a human emotion. The dying man Went back at first to his battles, as soldiers do. He was pushing a new advance With the old impatience and skill, over tangled ground, A cloudy drive that did not move as he willed Though he had it clear in his mind. They were slow today. “Tell A. P. Hill to push them⁠—push the attack⁠— Get up the guns!” The cloudy assault dispersed. There were no more cannon. The ground was plain enough now.