WE come from the war-swept valleys, Where the strong ranks clash in might, Where the broken rear guard rallies For its last and losing fight, From the roaring streets and highways, Where the mad crowds move abreast. We come to the wooded byways, To cover our grief, and rest. Not ours the ban of the coward, Not ours is the idler's shame; If we sink at last, o'erpowered, Will ye whelm us with scorn or blame? We have seen the goal and have striven As they strive who win or die; We were burdened and harshly driven, And the swift feet passed us by. When we hear the plaudits' thunder, And thrill to the victor's shout, We envy them not, nor wonder At the fate that cast us out; For we heed one music only, The sweet far voice that calls To the dauntless soul and lonely Who fights to the end and falls. We come — outworn and weary — The unmanned hosts of life; Long was our march and dreary, Fruitless and long our strife, Out from the dust and the riot — From the lost, yet glorious quest, We come to the vales of quiet, To cover our grief and rest. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE MEASURE by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON CONTRA MORTEM: THE ECSTASY by HAYDEN CARRUTH THE JOBHOLDER by DAVID IGNATOW THE RETURN (2) by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON DEAF HOUSE AGENT by KATHERINE MANSFIELD I PAY MY DEBT FOR LAFAYETTE AND ROCHAMBEAU' by EDGAR LEE MASTERS |