|
||||||
|
|
||||||
|
Book, page 11 / 70 Thou that on every field of earth and sky Didst hunt for Death, who seemed to flee and fear, How great and greatly fallen dost thou lie Slain in the Desert by some wandering spear: 'Not here, alas!' may England say, 'not here Nor in this quarrel was it meet to die, But in that dreadful battle drawing nigh To thunder through the Afghan passes sheer: Like Aias by the ships shouldst thou have stood, And in some glen have stayed the stream of flight, The bulwark of thy people and their shield, When Indus or when Helmund ran with blood, Till back into the Northland and the Night The smitten Eagles scattered from the field.' MELVILLE AND COGHILL. (The place of the little hand.) Dead, with their eyes to the foe, Dead, with the foe at their feet, Under the sky laid low Truly their slumber is sweet, Though the wind from the Camp of the Slain Men blow, And the rain on the wilderness beat. Dead, for they chose to die When that wild race was run; Dead, for they would not fly, Deeming their work undone, Nor cared to look on the face of the sky, Nor loved the light of the sun.
|
Knowledgerush Search
|
|
Contact Us
| Privacy Statement & Terms of Use
|