Читать книгу Poems, 1908-1919 - Drinkwater John - Страница 29

THE SOLDIER

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The large report of fame I lack,

And shining clasps and crimson scars,

For I have held my bivouac

Alone amid the untroubled stars.


My battle-field has known no dawn

Beclouded by a thousand spears;

I’ve been no mounting tyrant’s pawn

To buy his glory with my tears.


It never seemed a noble thing

Some little leagues of land to gain

From broken men, nor yet to fling

Abroad the thunderbolts of pain.


Yet I have felt the quickening breath

As peril heavy peril kissed —

My weapon was a little faith,

And fear was my antagonist.


Not a brief hour of cannonade,

But many days of bitter strife,

Till God of His great pity laid

Across my brow the leaves of life.


Poems, 1908-1919

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