Holy of holies Confessions of an anarchist [by J. E. Barlas] |
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46
XLII.
[Through hail of fire, through sleet of blood, press on]
Through hail of fire, through sleet of blood, press on,A warrior rushing on the spears, through all.
Stay not to mark the shrieking friends that fall,
Life's failures. They were loved and they are gone.
Forward over their bodies! Thus are won
Battles and empires. Steep, and trench, and wall
Are stormed and shattered at the clarion-call.
Blood smokes to heaven where late their bayonets shone.
Then on the rampart thou shalt stand, and plant
Thy blood-red flag, a calm and conquering form
Upon the citadel of immortal fame.
Still with the charge o'erpast thy breast shall pant,
There looking down on the dispersing storm
From the still summit of a deathless name.
March 29th, 1886.
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