So it ends, this lesser battle of the first day, Starkly disputed and piecemeal won and lost By corps-commanders who carried no magic plans Stowed in their sleeves, but fought and held as they could. It is past. The board is staked for the greater game Which is to follow⁠—The beaten Union brigades Recoil from the crossroads town that they tried to hold, And so recoiling, rest on a destined ground. Who chose that ground? There are claimants enough in the books. Howard thanked by Congress for choosing it As doubtless, they would have thanked him as well had he Chosen another, once the battle was won, And there are a dozen ifs on the Southern side, How, in that first day’s evening, if one had known, If Lee had been there in time, if Jackson had lived, The heights that cost so much blood in the vain attempt To take days later, could have been taken then. And the ifs and the thanks and the rest are all true enough But we can only say, when we look at the board,