Poems ✍️

Bitterly, England must thou grieve —
Though none of these poor men who died
But did within his soul believe
That death for thee was glorified.

Ever they watched it hovering near —
A mystery beyond thought to plumb —
And often, in loathing and in fear,
They heard cold danger whisper, Come! —

Heard, and obeyed. Oh, if thou weep
Such courage and honour, woe, despair;
Remember too that those who sleep
No more remorse can share.