We found the little captain at the head; <br />His men lay well-aligned. <br />We touched his hand &mdash stone cold &mdash and he was dead, <br />And they, all dead behind, <br />Had never reached their goal, but they died well; <br />They charged in line, and in the same line fell. <br /> <br />They well-known rosy colours of his face <br />Were almost lost in grey. <br />We saw that, dying and in hopeless case, <br />For others' sake that day <br />He'd smothered all rebellious groans: in death <br />His fingers were tight clenched between his teeth. <br /> <br />For those who live uprightly and die true <br />Heaven has no bars or locks, <br />And serves all taste...or what's for him to do <br />Up there, but hunt the fox? <br />Angelic choirs? No, Justice must provide <br />For one who rose straight and in hunting died. <br /> <br />So if Heaven had no Hunt before hecame, <br />Why, it must find one now: <br />If any shirk and doubt they know the game, <br />There's one to teach them how: <br />Andthe whole host of Seraphim complete <br />Must jog in scarlet to his opening Meet.<br /><br />Robert Graves<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-dead-fox-hunter/
