Classic Poem

How Valour burns!
With none to urge and very few to grieve,
He gathers up his scanty goods to leave
Slow toil of peace for the sharp toil of war.
With clay-stiff gait towards his uncertain goal,
Dreaming no fame, untroubled save for fear
They take his pride, the roan mare now in foal,
From harvest-fields in this great harvest year,
Across the wold beneath the pale first star,
Baring his wet brow to the evening wind,
No thought of his own valour in his mind,
To war he turns.
To war he turns.
Brother of warriors whose deeds outshine
Time's mists! From hearts like his where the Divine
Inviolable Fire has dumbly burned
Their honour soared! Finding no kindred spark
To leap from heart to heart—a running fire,
Theirs had been but a torch in the lonely night—
The flaming war-cry of a great desire—
A moment lifted—swiftly overturned.
God speed these Heroes as those Heroes sped!
Victory! Home! Or life with the great dead!
How Valour burns!