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Even victors are by victories undone.

quote by John Dryden
Added by Lucian Velea
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Climbing From Ruts

Not 'who' is he?
But 'what' is he?
To know.
Before the showing?
To have that showing...
Grow.
To be known.

Not 'who' is she?
But 'what' is she?
To know.
Before the showing?
To have that showing...
Grow.
To be known.

They are the ones,
Unstung.
And freed,
From under a thumb.

They are the ones,
Unstung.
And freed,
From under a thumb.

Climbing from ruts.
Undone.
And looking up.
Undone.
And taking risks,
Unlimited...
Others may sit and resist.

Climbing from ruts.
Undone.
And looking up.
Undone.
And taking risks,
Unlimited...
Others may sit and resist.

They are the ones,
Unstung.
And freed,
From under a thumb.

Not 'who' is he?
But 'what' is he?
To know.

[...] Read more

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The Best Is Yet To Come Undone

It's behind you and
It's in your face
Close your eyes
Selling years of their
Smoke and mirrors and
Open minds
And they try to find a way to make me something that
I'm not
I touched the world
I felt the sun
I know the best is yet to come undone
I looked around
At everyone
I know the best is yet to come undone
The best is yet to come undone
It's so obvious
That the promise
Keeps me here
Painting pictures where
All the colors Disappear And they try to find a way to make me something that I'm not
I touched the world
I felt the sun
I know the best is yet to come undone
I looked around
At everyone
I know the best is yet to come undone
The best is yet to come undone
The best is yet to come undone
And I find my way out
And I find my way out
It's so obvious
That the promise
Keeps me here
Painting pictures where
All the colors Disappear
And they try to find a way to make me something that I'm not
I touched the world
I felt the sun
I know the best is yet to come undone
I looked around
At everyone
I know the best is yet to come undone
Touched the world
Felt the sun
I know the best is yet to come undone
I looked around
At everyone
I know the best is yet to come undone
The best is yet to come undone
The best is yet to come undone

[...] Read more

song performed by Lit from A Place In The Sun
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Phenomenons Studied

Phenomenons studied by scholars,
Are...
Stunning phenomenons never undone.

Phenomenons studied by scholars,
Are...
Stunning phenomenons never undone.

Mysteries lived to exist,
Are...
Phenomenons never undone.
And,
The more they're probed confusion sits.
Because we don't see us a part of this.

Why are we here to be neighbors?
With confusion that we can't resist.
Why can't we accept our differences?
Without trying to end conflicts.
Why the fighting to exist...
In a peacefulness ruled by one fist.

Phenomenons studied by scholars,
Are...
Stunning phenomenons never undone.

Phenomenons studied by scholars,
Are...
Stunning phenomenons never undone.

And why are obelisks ignored?
Why are they there and who are they for?
What is that energy they feed?
And what is it that we can't see?
What is the purpose and the need?

Phenomenons studied by scholars,
Are...
Stunning phenomenons never undone.

Mysteries lived to exist,
Are...
Phenomenons never undone.
And,
The more they're probed confusion sits.
Because we don't see us a part of this.

What blind eye has to open?
To fix what has been broken.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Undone To Undo

Undone to undo...
Those passionate insights.
Individuality disconnected,
To a symbolic way of life.

Undone to undo...
Questions and curiousity.
Freedom to disconnect...
From a torn and decadent society.

Undone to undo...
Truth and honesty.
A rise in higher consciousness,
That allows eyes wide open that see.

Undone to undo...
Facts and nonfiction.
To restrict convictions.

Undone to undo...
Influence that speaks,
To those poor and meek...
Reaching to strengthen,
Identities that seek...
A reality that teaches,
Shackles are for the sheep...
Heading for mutilation.
And a mindless humanity!

Undone to undo...
You and I.
And all good deeds pursued,
We attempt to do.

Undone to undo...
But intervention,
Prevents it.
Intervention prevents it.
Intervention prevents it.
An intervention,
Prevents it.
And dimensions,
Diminish.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The Battle of Cuito Cuanavale

I. Outnumbered by armour (A reply to William Shakespeare)

Outnumbered by armour
and by men we met the enemy,
FAPLA and Cubans under Russian leadership
and the men accompanying me
was very worried
and wished for the whole
of the seventh armoured division
to have been deployed.

I said to the men
in the armoured car with me
that if we must die here in vain,
the fewer men it be
but if we grasp the victory
the world will know
that we are brave and honourable men
capable of destroying whatever faces us.

Weary I told them that our ancestors
faced a outnumbering enemy
against Dingaan and won effectively
as they were in the hand of God
and so were we.

Colonel Deon Ferreira send us straight in,
from Rundu
(heading north-west after crossing the border)
to intercept the 47th enemy FAPLA / Cuban (armoured) brigade.

At the same time UNITA were repulsing
the16th FAPLA (infantry) brigade
north of the Lomba River
that was trying to take Cunjamba.

We were hitting hard directly from the south,
surprising the 47th enemy (armoured) Brigade,
virtually destroying it
at the junction
of the Lomba and Cuzizi Rivers

fighting with armoured cars
against tanks
hitting fast and then driving away at speed,
like on commando our ancestors did
during the Anglo Boer war
fighting day and night
till the field, the air was filled with gore

[...] Read more

poem by Gert Strydom
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Undone

When your whole world comes crashing to the ground
Tell me everything you need now anything at all
and I will be the one who's waiting anytime you fall
yeah, When you come undone
When you come undone
You know I can't be like everybody
Cause I can't tell you what you want to hear
I don't know if I can make it better
All I know is I will be around
Tell me everything you need now anything at all
and I will be the one who's waiting anytime you fall
yeah, When you come undone
When you come undone
When all your plans are made out lying on the floor
and all your dreams are turning into nothing more
When all your hope has left you know you're not alone
Just hold on
Hold on
Tell me everything you need now anything at all
and I will be the one who's waiting anytime you fall
yeah, When you come undone
When you come undone

song performed by Lifehouse
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Candidate

This poem was written in , on occasion of the contest between the
Earls of Hardwicke and Sandwich for the High-stewardship of the
University of Cambridge, vacant by the death of the Lord Chancellor
Hardwicke. The spirit of party ran high in the University, and no
means were left untried by either candidate to obtain a majority. The
election was fixed for the th of March, when, after much
altercation, the votes appearing equal, a scrutiny was demanded;
whereupon the Vice-Chancellor adjourned the senate _sine die_. On
appeal to the Lord High-Chancellor, he determined in favour of the
Earl of Hardwicke, and a mandamus issued accordingly.

Enough of Actors--let them play the player,
And, free from censure, fret, sweat, strut, and stare;
Garrick abroad, what motives can engage
To waste one couplet on a barren stage?
Ungrateful Garrick! when these tasty days,
In justice to themselves, allow'd thee praise;
When, at thy bidding, Sense, for twenty years,
Indulged in laughter, or dissolved in tears;
When in return for labour, time, and health,
The town had given some little share of wealth,
Couldst thou repine at being still a slave?
Darest thou presume to enjoy that wealth she gave?
Couldst thou repine at laws ordain'd by those
Whom nothing but thy merit made thy foes?
Whom, too refined for honesty and trade,
By need made tradesmen, Pride had bankrupts made;
Whom Fear made drunkards, and, by modern rules,
Whom Drink made wits, though Nature made them fools;
With such, beyond all pardon is thy crime,
In such a manner, and at such a time,
To quit the stage; but men of real sense,
Who neither lightly give, nor take offence,
Shall own thee clear, or pass an act of grace,
Since thou hast left a Powell in thy place.
Enough of Authors--why, when scribblers fail,
Must other scribblers spread the hateful tale?
Why must they pity, why contempt express,
And why insult a brother in distress?
Let those, who boast the uncommon gift of brains
The laurel pluck, and wear it for their pains;
Fresh on their brows for ages let it bloom,
And, ages past, still flourish round their tomb.
Let those who without genius write, and write,
Versemen or prosemen, all in Nature's spite,
The pen laid down, their course of folly run
In peace, unread, unmention'd, be undone.
Why should I tell, to cross the will of Fate,
That Francis once endeavour'd to translate?
Why, sweet oblivion winding round his head,

[...] Read more

poem by Charles Churchill
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Becoming Undone

Becoming undone.
And bending.
Is never any fun...
Whenever it starts and comes.
No.
Becoming undone.
And bending.
Is never any fun...
Whenever it starts.
And with a doing that overcomes.

Feeling to be,
One pulled apart.
And no relief,
Is there.
With no air to breathe freely.
And none seems to be,
There to spare.
Anywhere.

And it is,
Becoming undone.
And bending.
Is never any fun...
Whenever it starts and comes.
No.
Becoming undone.
And bending.
Is never any fun...
Whenever it starts.
And with a doing that overcomes.

And it is,
Becoming undone.
And it is,
Becoming undone...
To begin and start,
With a doing that overcomes.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The Final Reckoning

’Twas a wild and stormy sunset, changing tints of lurid red
Flooded mountain top and valley and the low clouds overhead;
And the rays streamed through the windows of a building stately, high,
Whose wealthy, high-born master had lain him down to die.

Many friends were thronging round him, breathing aching, heavy sighs—
Men with pale and awe-struck faces, women, too, with weeping eyes,
Watching breathless, silent, grieving him whose sands were nearly run,
When, with sudden start, he muttered: “God! how much I’ve left undone!”

Then out spoke an aged listener, with broad brow and locks of snow,
“Patriot, faithful to thy country and her welfare, say not so,
For the long years thou hast served her thou hast only honor won.”
But, from side to side still tossing, still he muttered: “Much undone!”

Then the wife, with moan of anguish, like complaint of stricken dove,
Murmured: “Husband, truer, fonder, never blessed a woman’s love,
And a just and tender father both to daughter and to son”—
But more feebly moaned he ever: “Oh! there’s much, there’s much undone!”

Quickly, then, a proud, stern soldier questioned: “Say, will not thy name
Long descend in future story, linked with honor and with fame,
For thine arm was prompt in battle and thy laurels nobly won;
Patriot, citizen and soldier, what, then, is there left undone?”

Then the dying man upraised him; at his accents loud and clear
Into silence men lapsed quickly—women checked each sob and tear;
And he said: “To fame, home, country, all my heart, my thoughts I’ve given,
But, Oh dreamers, can you tell me what I’ve done for God—for Heaven?

“It was not for Him I battled with the sword or with the pen,
Not for His praise that I thirsted, but that of my fellow-men;
And amid the light now flooding this my life’s last setting sun,
I can see, misguided worldling! that there’s much I’ve left undone.”

Thicker, darker, fell the shadows, fainter grew his flutt’ring breath
Then a strange and solemn stillness, ’twas the awful hush of death:
Hope we that a tender Saviour, unto gentle pity won,
Judged that dying man with mercy, whatsoe’er he left undone!

poem by Rosanna Eleanor Leprohon
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Little Victories

Words and music by bob seger
When your baby up and leaves you
Up and leaves you flat
Dont you laugh my friend sometimes it happens just like that
First you feel the anger then the sorrow will soon take control
And therell be hard times for sure
Long cold lonely nights
It might not sound like much
But itll mean a lot youll see
Every hour you survive will come to be
A little victory
Little victory
As you struggle through each day
Each strange new day
Feelin lost and wounded tryin hard to find your way
No one there to talk it out with
Learnin how to sleep alone
Overcomin each new doubt
Tryin hard just to accept it all
Everytime you keep control when youre cut off at the knees
Everytime you take a punch and still stand at ease
Little victories
Little victories
And when night falls and theres no one around
The cruelest time of all and not one sound
Listenin to the wind blow
Listenin to the tickin of the clock
Tryin hard to forget
Tryin hard to just accept it all
As you step out in the night take a lesson from the trees
Watch the way they learn to bend with each breeze
Little victories
Everytime you make it through
Its another little victory
Day by day minute by minute
Little victories

song performed by Bob Seger
Added by Lucian Velea
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Napoleon

I

Cannon his name,
Cannon his voice, he came.
Who heard of him heard shaken hills,
An earth at quake, to quiet stamped;
Who looked on him beheld the will of wills,
The driver of wild flocks where lions ramped:
Beheld War's liveries flee him, like lumped grass
Nid-nod to ground beneath the cuffing storm;
While laurelled over his Imperial form,
Forth from her bearded tube of lacquey brass,
Reverberant notes and long blew volant Fame.
Incarnate Victory, Power manifest,
Infernal or God-given to mankind,
On the quenched volcano's cusp did he take stand,
A conquering army's height above the land,
Which calls that army offspring of its breast,
And sees it mid the starry camps enshrined;
His eye the cannon's flame,
The cannon's cave his mind.

II

To weld the nation in a name of dread,
And scatter carrion flies off wounds unhealed,
The Necessitated came, as comes from out
Electric ebon lightning's javelin-head,
Threatening agitation in the revealed
Founts of our being; terrible with doubt,
With radiance restorative. At one stride
Athwart the Law he stood for sovereign sway.
That Soliform made featureless beside
His brilliancy who neighboured: vapour they;
Vapour what postured statues barred his tread.
On high in amphitheatre field on field,
Italian, Egyptian, Austrian,
Far heard and of the carnage discord clear,
Bells of his escalading triumphs pealed
In crashes on a choral chant severe,
Heraldic of the authentic Charlemagne,
Globe, sceptre, sword, to enfold, to rule, to smite,
Make unity of the mass,
Coherent or refractory, by his might.

Forth from her bearded tube of lacquey brass,
Fame blew, and tuned the jangles, bent the knees
Rebellious or submissive; his decrees
Were thunder in those heavens and compelled:
Such as disordered earth, eclipsed of stars,

[...] Read more

poem by George Meredith
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To my Honoured Kinsman John Driden, of Chesterton, in the County of Huntingdon, Esq.

How blessed is he, who leads a country life,
Unvexed with anxious cares, and void of strife!
Who, studying peace, and shunning civil rage,
Enjoyed his youth, and now enjoys his age:
All who deserve his love, he makes his own;
And, to be loved himself, needs only to be known.
Just, good, and wise, contending neighbours come,
From your award to wait their final doom;
And, foes before, return in friendship home.
Without their cost, you terminate the cause,
And save the expence of long litigious laws;
Where suits are traversed, and so little won,
That he who conquers is but last undone:
Such are not your decrees; but so designed,
The sanction leaves a lasting peace behind;
Like your own soul, serene, a pattern of your mind.
Promoting concord, and composing strife,
Lord of yourself, uncumbered with a wife;
Where, for a year, a month, perhaps a night,
Long penitence succeeds a short delight:
Minds are so hardly matched, that even the first,
Though paired by heaven, in Paradise were cursed.
For man and woman, though in one they grow,
Yet, first or last, return again to two.
He to God's image, she to his was made;
So, farther from the fount the stream at random strayed.
How could he stand, when, put to double pain,
He must a weaker than himself sustain!
Each might have stood perhaps, but each alone;
Two wrestlers help to pull each other down.
Not that my verse would blemish all the fair;
But yet if some be bad, 'tis wisdom to beware,
And better shun the bait, than struggle in the snare.
Thus have you shunned, and shun the married state,
Trusting as little as you can to fate.
No porter guards the passage of your door,
To admit the wealthy, and exclude the poor;
For God, who gave the riches, gave the heart,
To sanctify the whole, by giving part;
Heaven, who foresaw the will, the means has wrought,
And to the second son a blessing brought;
The first-begotten had his father's share;
But you, like Jacob, are Rebecca's heir.
So may your stores and fruitful fields increase;
And ever be you blessed, who live to bless.
As Ceres sowed, where-e'er her chariot flew;
As heaven in deserts rained the bread of dew;
So free to many, to relations most,
You feed with manna your own Israel host.
With crowds attended of your ancient race,

[...] Read more

poem by John Dryden
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Mad Season

I feel stupid - but I know it wont last for long
Ive been guessing - I coulda been guessin wrong
You dont know me now
I kinda thought that you should somehow
Does that whole mad season got ya down
I feel stupid but its something that comes and goes
Ive been changin - think its funny how now one knows
We dont talk about - the little things that we do without
When that whole mad season comes around
So why ya gotta stand there
Looking like the answer now
It seems to me - youd come around
I need you now
Do you think you can cope
You figured me out - Im lost and Im hopeless
Bleeding and broken - though Ive never spoken
I come undone - in this mad season
I feel stupid - but I think I been catchin on
I feel ugly - but I know I still turn you on
You seem colder now, torn apart, angry, turned around
Will that whole mad season knock you down
So are you gonna stand there
Are you gonna help me out
You need to be together now - I need you now
Do you think you can cope
You figured me out - Im lost and Im hopeless
Bleeding and broken - though Ive never spoken
I come undone - in this mad season
Now Im cryin - isnt that what you want
Im tryin to live my life on my own
But I wont
At times - I do believe I am strong
So someone tell me why, why, why
Do i, i, I feel stupid
And I came undone
And I came undone
I need you now
Do you think you can cope
You figured me out - Im lost and Im hopeless
Bleeding and broken - though Ive never spoken
I need you now
Do you think you can cope
You figured me out - Im a child and Im hopeless
Bleeding and broken - though Ive never spoken
I come undone - in this mad season
In this mad season
Theres been a mad season
Been a mad season

song performed by Matchbox 20
Added by Lucian Velea
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Mad Season

I feel stupid - but I know it wont last for long
Ive been guessing - I coulda been guessin wrong
You dont know me now
I kinda thought that you should somehow
Does that whole mad season got ya down
I feel stupid but its something that comes and goes
Ive been changin - think its funny how now one knows
We dont talk about - the little things that we do without
When that whole mad season comes around
So why ya gotta stand there
Looking like the answer now
It seems to me - youd come around
I need you now
Do you think you can cope
You figured me out - Im lost and Im hopeless
Bleeding and broken - though Ive never spoken
I come undone - in this mad season
I feel stupid - but I think I been catchin on
I feel ugly - but I know I still turn you on
You seem colder now, torn apart, angry, turned around
Will that whole mad season knock you down
So are you gonna stand there
Are you gonna help me out
You need to be together now - I need you now
Do you think you can cope
You figured me out - Im lost and Im hopeless
Bleeding and broken - though Ive never spoken
I come undone - in this mad season
Now Im cryin - isnt that what you want
Im tryin to live my life on my own
But I wont
At times - I do believe I am strong
So someone tell me why, why, why
Do i, i, I feel stupid
And I came undone
And I came undone
I need you now
Do you think you can cope
You figured me out - Im lost and Im hopeless
Bleeding and broken - though Ive never spoken
I need you now
Do you think you can cope
You figured me out - Im a child and Im hopeless
Bleeding and broken - though Ive never spoken
I come undone - in this mad season
In this mad season
Theres been a mad season
Been a mad season

song performed by Matchbox Twenty
Added by Lucian Velea
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Satisfied

This summer time I have no fury
No chance of sinking sailing ships
If time stood still Id take aim and fire
For you
For every ocean there must be shore
On which I stand with restless toes
When everything I look for in myself is in you
I feel a little more than empty
But I wanna feel more than full
Its a pity all I have
Is just enough to keep you satisfied
This knot can come undone no matter how we try to keep it tied
Inside this bottle theres a message
You may be drinking way too much
If I had the strength to take the weight of you I would
I feel a little more than empty
But I wanna feel more than full
Its a pity all I have
Is just enough to keep you satisfied
This knot can come undone no matter how we try to keep it tide
Something high it keeps me here
Something that keeps us together
You keep me dry despite the weather
I dont need to feel this way
For you but I do end up feel satisfied
Its a pity all I have
Is just enough to keep you satisfied
This knot can come undone no matter how we try to keep it tied
Its a pity all I have
It just enough to keep you satisfied
This knot can come undone no matter how we try to keep it tide
Its a pity all I have
Is just enough to keep you satisfied
This knot can come undone no matter how we try to keep it tied

song performed by Natalie Imbruglia
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Few Can Pick Them To Then Run

How can one live without risks.
Or prevent risks to exist.
Risk taking is a part of this life lived,
As it is...
For everyone.

Few can pick them to then run.
Few can pick them to then run.
Few can pick them to then run...
To be undone.

Few can pick them to then run.
Few can pick them to then run.
Few can pick them to then run...
To be undone.

How can one live without risks.
Or prevent risks to exist.
Risk taking is a part of this life lived,
As it is...
For everyone.

Few can pick them to then run.
Few can pick them to then run.
Few can pick them to then run...
To be undone.

Few can pick them to then run.
Few can pick them to then run.
Few can pick them to then run...
To be undone.

Living life is taking risks.
And no one living can resist...
Those risks.

Few can pick them to then run,
From those risks.
Few can pick them to then run,
From those risks.
Few can pick them to then run...
To be undone.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Shoe Laces

Shoe laces
Shoe laces
Don't come undone
Don't untie and stop all my fun.

I'm running with friends in this game of tag
To come undone would be such a drag.

Shoe laces
Shoe laces
Don't come undone
Don't untie and stop all my fun.

Trip me you'll do and skin my knee too
People will laugh and call me a foo.

Shoe laces
Shoe laces
Don't come undone
Don't untie and stop all my fun.

Look oh no you’re out of the knot
Unraveling and flaring, about to be caught
Under my foot as I step down
God oh no I'm falling...The ground!
Boom I hit and what do you know
My Knee is bleeding just like I told
People are laughing and pointing and staring
Why oh why did my shoe laces fail me?

Shoe laces
Shoe laces
Did come undone
Did untie and stop all my fun…

poem by DAS Jr.
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Pharsalia - Book VIII: Death Of Pompeius

Now through Alcides' pass and Tempe's groves
Pompeius, aiming for Haemonian glens
And forests lone, urged on his wearied steed
Scarce heeding now the spur; by devious tracks
Seeking to veil the footsteps of his flight:
The rustle of the foliage, and the noise
Of following comrades filled his anxious soul
With terrors, as he fancied at his side
Some ambushed enemy. Fallen from the height
Of former fortunes, still the chieftain knew
His life not worthless; mindful of the fates:
And 'gainst the price he set on Caesar's head,
He measures Caesar's value of his own.

Yet, as he rode, the features of the chief
Made known his ruin. Many as they sought
The camp Pharsalian, ere yet was spread
News of the battle, met the chief, amazed,
And wondered at the whirl of human things:
Nor held disaster sure, though Magnus' self
Told of his ruin. Every witness seen
Brought peril on his flight: 'twere better far
Safe in a name obscure, through all the world
To wander; but his ancient fame forbad.

Too long had great Pompeius from the height
Of human greatness, envied of mankind,
Looked on all others; nor for him henceforth
Could life be lowly. The honours of his youth
Too early thrust upon him, and the deeds
Which brought him triumph in the Sullan days,
His conquering navy and the Pontic war,
Made heavier now the burden of defeat,
And crushed his pondering soul. So length of days
Drags down the haughty spirit, and life prolonged
When power has perished. Fortune's latest hour,
Be the last hour of life! Nor let the wretch
Live on disgraced by memories of fame!
But for the boon of death, who'd dare the sea
Of prosperous chance?

Upon the ocean marge
By red Peneus blushing from the fray,
Borne in a sloop, to lightest wind and wave
Scarce equal, he, whose countless oars yet smote
Upon Coreyra's isle and Leucas point,
Lord of Cilicia and Liburnian lands,
Crept trembling to the sea. He bids them steer
For the sequestered shores of Lesbos isle;
For there wert thou, sharer of all his griefs,

[...] Read more

poem by Marcus Annaeus Lucanus
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Canto the Fourth

I.

I stood in Venice, on the Bridge of Sighs;
A palace and a prison on each hand:
I saw from out the wave her structures rise
As from the stroke of the enchanter’s wand:
A thousand years their cloudy wings expand
Around me, and a dying glory smiles
O’er the far times when many a subject land
Looked to the wingèd Lion’s marble piles,
Where Venice sate in state, throned on her hundred isles!

II.

She looks a sea Cybele, fresh from ocean,
Rising with her tiara of proud towers
At airy distance, with majestic motion,
A ruler of the waters and their powers:
And such she was; her daughters had their dowers
From spoils of nations, and the exhaustless East
Poured in her lap all gems in sparkling showers.
In purple was she robed, and of her feast
Monarchs partook, and deemed their dignity increased.

III.

In Venice, Tasso’s echoes are no more,
And silent rows the songless gondolier;
Her palaces are crumbling to the shore,
And music meets not always now the ear:
Those days are gone - but beauty still is here.
States fall, arts fade - but Nature doth not die,
Nor yet forget how Venice once was dear,
The pleasant place of all festivity,
The revel of the earth, the masque of Italy!

IV.

But unto us she hath a spell beyond
Her name in story, and her long array
Of mighty shadows, whose dim forms despond
Above the dogeless city’s vanished sway;
Ours is a trophy which will not decay
With the Rialto; Shylock and the Moor,
And Pierre, cannot be swept or worn away -
The keystones of the arch! though all were o’er,
For us repeopled were the solitary shore.

V.

[...] Read more

poem by Byron from Childe Harold's Pilgrimage (1818)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Custer

BOOK FIRST.

I.

ALL valor died not on the plains of Troy.
Awake, my Muse, awake! be thine the joy
To sing of deeds as dauntless and as brave
As e'er lent luster to a warrior's grave.
Sing of that noble soldier, nobler man,
Dear to the heart of each American.
Sound forth his praise from sea to listening sea-
Greece her Achilles claimed, immortal Custer, we.

II.

Intrepid are earth's heroes now as when
The gods came down to measure strength with men.
Let danger threaten or let duty call,
And self surrenders to the needs of all;
Incurs vast perils, or, to save those dear,
Embraces death without one sigh or tear.
Life's martyrs still the endless drama play
Though no great Homer lives to chant their worth to-day.

III.

And if he chanted, who would list his songs,
So hurried now the world's gold-seeking throngs?
And yet shall silence mantle mighty deeds?
Awake, dear Muse, and sing though no ear heeds!
Extol the triumphs, and bemoan the end
Of that true hero, lover, son and friend
Whose faithful heart in his last choice was shown-
Death with the comrades dear, refusing flight alone.

IV.

He who was born for battle and for strife
Like some caged eagle frets in peaceful life;
So Custer fretted when detained afar
From scenes of stirring action and of war.
And as the captive eagle in delight,
When freedom offers, plumes himself for flight
And soars away to thunder clouds on high,
With palpitating wings and wild exultant cry,

V.

So lion-hearted Custer sprang to arms,
And gloried in the conflict's loud alarms.

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poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
Added by Poetry Lover
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