Classic Poem

In the great hall
High festival
Is heard no more.
The knights and barons bold
Are trodden into mould;
The gems they wore,
The shields they bore,
Are dust; the fiery hearts are cold!

Yet have hearts fire,
And men aspire
To worthy deeds,
And blazon of renown!
To wear the civic crown
Race, race succeeds,
Accepts the meeds,
And hands the hard-won trophy down!