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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=409893" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Volunteer</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=409893" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Here lies a clerk who half his life had spent <br>Toiling at ledgers in a city grey, <br>Thinking that so his days would drift away <br>With no lance broken in life’s tournament: <br>Yet ever ’twixt the books and his bright eyes <br>The gleaming eagles of the legions came, <br>And horsemen, charging under phantom skies, <br>Went thundering past beneath the oriflamme. <br> <br>And now those waiting dreams are satisfied; <br>From twilight to the halls of dawn he went; <br>His lance is broken; but he lies content <br>With that high hour, in which he lived and died. <br>And falling thus he wants no recompense, <br>Who found his battle in the last resort; <br>Nor needs he any hearse to bear him hence, <br>Who goes to join the men of Agincourt.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=Herbert+Asquith">Herbert Asquith</a></strong></div>

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