Tho' lack of laurels and of wreaths not one <br />Prove you our lives abortive, shall we yet <br />Vaunt us our single aim, our hearts full set <br />To win the guerdon which is never won. <br />Witness, a purpose never is undone. <br />And tho' fate drain our seas of violet <br />To gather round our lives her wide-hung net, <br />Memories of hopes that are not shall atone. <br />Not wholly starless is the ill-starred life, <br />Not all is night in failure, and the shield <br />Sometimes well grasped, tho' shattered in the strife. <br />And here while all the lowering heaven is ringed <br />With our loud death-shouts echoed, on the field <br />Stands forth our Nikè, proud, tho' broken-winged.<br /><br />Trumbull Stickney<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/tho-lack-of-laurels/
