The Vagabond and Other Poems from Punch by R. C. Lehmann
page 27 of 84 (32%)
page 27 of 84 (32%)
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His country and to prove himself a man.
Yet he could laugh at all his ardour too And find some fun in glory, as a child Laughs at a bauble but will guard it well. Now he is fall'n, and on his shining brow Glory has set her everlasting seal. I like to think how cheerily he talked Amid the ceaseless tumult of the guns, How, when the word was given, he stood erect, Sprang from the trench and, shouting to his men, Led them forthright to where the sullen foe Waited their coming; and his brain took fire, And all was exultation and a high Heroic ardour and a pulse of joy. "Forward!" his cry rang out, and all his men Thundered behind him with their eyes ablaze, "Forward for England! Clear the beggars out! Remember--" and death found him, and he fell Fronting the Germans, and the rush swept on. Thrice blessed fate! We linger here and droop Beneath the heavy burden of our years, And may not, though we envy, give our lives For England and for honour and for right; But still must wear our weary hours away, While he, that happy fighter, in one leap, From imperfection to perfection borne, Breaks through the bonds that bound him to the earth. Now of his failures is a triumph made; |
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