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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=519243" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Ionicus</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=519243" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">With failing feet and shoulders bowed <br>Beneath the weight of happier days, <br>He lagged among the heedless crowd, <br>Or crept along suburban ways. <br>But still through all his heart was young, <br>A courage, a pride, a rapture, sprung <br>Of the strength and splendour of England's war. </a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=519243" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">From ill-requited toil he turned <br>To ride with Picton and with Pack, <br>Among his grammars inly burned <br>To storm the Afghan mountain-track. <br>When midnight chimed, before Quebec <br>He watched with Wolfe till he morning star; <br>At noon he saw from Victory's deck <br>The sweep and splendour of England's war. </a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=519243" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Beyond the book his teaching sped, <br>He left on whom he taught the trace <br>Of kinship with the deathless dead, <br>And faith in all the Island race. <br>He passed : his life a tangle seemed, <br>His age from fame and power was far; <br>But his heart was night to the end, and dreamed <br>Of the sound and splendour of England's war.</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=Sir+Henry+Newbolt">Sir Henry Newbolt</a></strong></div>

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