COURAGE is but a word, and yet, of words The only sentinel of permanence; The ruddy watch-fire of cold winter days, We steal its comfort, lift our weary swords, And on. For faith -- without it -- has no sense; And love to wind of doubt and tremor sways; And life for ever quaking marsh must tread. Laws give it not; before it prayer will blush; Hope has it not; nor pride of being true; 'Tis the mysterious soul which never yields, But hales us on and on to breast the rush Of all the fortunes we shall happen thro'; And when Death calls across his shadowy fields -- Dying, it answers: "Here! I am not dead!" | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE SEALS IN PENOBSCOT BAY by KAREN SWENSON AN EPITAPH by WALTER JOHN DE LA MARE AUNTIE'S SKIRTS by ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON |