TO fill the gap, to bear the brunt With bayonet and with spade, Four hundred to a four-mile front Unbacked and undismayed What men are these, of what great race, From what old shire or town, That run with such goodwill to face Death on a Flemish down? @3Let be! they bind a broken line: As men die, so die they. Land of the free! their life was thine, It is St. George's Day.@1 Yet say whose ardour bids them stand At bay by yonder bank, Where a boy's voice and a boy's hand Close up the quivering rank, Who under those all-shattering skies Plays out his captain's part With the last darkness in his eyes And @3Domum@1 in his heart? @3Let be, let be! in yonder line All names are burned away. Land of his love! the fame be thine, It is St. George's Day.@1 | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SPRING QUIET by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI THE SAD MOTHER by KATHARINE TYNAN THE METAMORPHOSIS OF THE WALNUT-TREE OF BOARSTELL: ECLOGUE by WILLIAM BASSE THURSDAY IN HOLY WEEK by JOSEPH BEAUMONT LINES TO GRIEF by ANN ELIZA BLEECKER THE ESTRANGEMENT by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN A BOOK OF AIRS: SONG 27 by THOMAS CAMPION MASQUE AT THE MARRIAGE OF THE LORD HAYES: TO JAMES KING OF BRITAIN by THOMAS CAMPION |