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Poem by Henry Newbolt The School at War All night before the brink of death In fitful sleep the army lay, For through the dream that stilled their breath Too gauntly glared the coming day. But we, within whose blood there leaps The fulness of a life as wide As Avon's water where he sweeps Seaward at last with Severn's tide, We heard beyond the desert night The murmur of the fields we knew, And our swift souls with one delight Like homing swallows Northward flew. We played again the immortal games, And grappled with the fierce old friends, And cheered the dead undying names, And sang the song that never ends; Till, when the hard, familiar bell Told that the summer night was late, Where long ago we said farewell We said farewell by the old gate. "O Captains unforgot," they cried, "Come you again or come no more, Across the world you keep the pride, Across the world we mark the score." Henry Newbolt Henry Newbolt's other poems: 1186 Views |
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