 | The Collected Poems of T. W. H. Crosland |  |
204
October 21
Dreams that shine for England still
Like a city on a hill—
Glory snatch'd from old dead woe,
Names of battles long ago!
Like a city on a hill—
Glory snatch'd from old dead woe,
Names of battles long ago!
Yea, with panoply of gold,
Pomps and glitterings manifold,
Shine they forth like happy stars
On the midnight of the wars.
Pomps and glitterings manifold,
Shine they forth like happy stars
On the midnight of the wars.
Dreams that heal the banner's rents,
Dreams that fire the regiments,
Dreams that are for English eyes
Smoke of the sweet sacrifice.
Dreams that fire the regiments,
Dreams that are for English eyes
Smoke of the sweet sacrifice.
Age-old tales of Chivalry
Clearing still its place to die,
Sturdy pikes, stout halberdiers
Conquering through the misty years.
Clearing still its place to die,
Sturdy pikes, stout halberdiers
Conquering through the misty years.
205
Great grey galleons, saucy sloops,
Proud-eyed men on haughty poops—
One of them, with breast ablaze,
Dies for England all her days!
Proud-eyed men on haughty poops—
One of them, with breast ablaze,
Dies for England all her days!
| The Collected Poems of T. W. H. Crosland | |