Our game was his but yesteryear; <br />We wished him back; we could not know <br />The self-same hour we missed him here <br />He led the line that broke the foe. <br /> <br />Blood-red behind our guarded posts <br />Sank as of old and dying day; <br />The battle ceased; the mingled hosts <br />Weary and cheery went their way: <br /> <br />"To-morrow well may bring," we said, <br />"As fair a fight, as clear a sun." <br />Dear Lad, before the world was sped, <br />For evermore thy goal was won.<br /><br />Sir Henry Newbolt<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-schoolfellow/
