Where are you, Poets, that a Hero dies <br />Unsung? He who, when Duty brought too soon <br />His billet of rest toiled on till he had won <br />The countersign of Glory? There he lies, <br />And in the silence of your poesies <br />He looks a Poem; yea, so made and done <br />As if the Bardic Heavens had thrown him down <br />In model to your making. Close his eyes, <br />That yours may learn him. To fulfil the Law <br />In Gospel, force the seeds of use to flower <br />In Beauty, to enman invisible Truth <br />And then transfigure-this is Poetry. <br />And this the World and his dear Country saw <br />Hymned unawares in that unconquer'd youth <br />Who, scorning to give less than all his power, <br />Having bled for us, then aspired to die; <br />And, dying thus, left one more pledge behind <br />That England may again deserve to lead Mankind.<br /><br />Sydney Thompson Dobell<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/where-are-you-poets/
