The soldier month, the bulwark of the year, <br />That never more shall hear such victories told; <br />He stands apparent with his heaven-high spear, <br />And helmeted of grand Etruscan gold. <br />Our harvest is the bounty he has won, <br />The loot his fiery temper takes by strength. <br />Oh! Paladin of the Imperial sun! <br />Oh! crown of all the seasons come at length! <br /> <br />This is sheer manhood; this is Charlemagne, <br />When he with his wide host came conquering home <br />From vengeance under Roncesvalles ta'en. <br />Or when his bramble beard flaked red with foam <br />Of bivouac wine-cups on the Lombard plain, <br />What time he swept to grasp the world at Rome.<br /><br />Hilaire Belloc<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/month-of-august/
