There is a courage, a majestic thing <br /> <br />That springs forth from the brow of pain, full-grown, <br /> <br />Minerva-like, and dares all dangers known, <br /> <br />And all the threatening future yet may bring; <br /> <br />Crowned with the helmet of great suffering; <br /> <br />Serene with that grand strength by martyrs shown, <br /> <br />When at the stake they die and make no moan, <br /> <br />And even as the flames leap up are heard to sing: <br /> <br />A courage so sublime and unafraid, <br /> <br />It wears its sorrows like a coat of mail; <br /> <br />And Fate, the archer, passes by dismayed, <br /> <br />Knowing his best barbed arrows needs must fail <br /> <br />To pierce a soul so armored and arrayed <br /> <br />That Death himself might look on it and quail.<br /><br />Ella Wheeler Wilcox<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/courage-2/
