The village sleeps, a name unknown, till men With life-blood stain its soil, and pay the due That lifts it to eternal fame,—for then ’T is grown a Gettysburg or Waterloo.
Collection:
Distinction - De Wolfe Howe
More from Poet
-
“whom the gods love die young;”—if gods ye be, Then generously might ye have spared to us One from your vast unnumbered overplus, One youth we loved as tenderly as ye.
-
The village sleeps, a name unknown, till men With life-blood stain its soil, and pay the due That lifts it to eternal fame,—for then ’T is grown a Gettysburg or Waterloo.
-
They made them ready and we saw them go Out of our very lives; Yet this world holds them all, And soon it must befall That we shall know How this one fares, how that one thrives; And one day—who knows when? They shall be with us here again. Another traveller left us late Whose life was as the...