All night before the brink of death <br />In fitful sleep the army lay, <br />For through the dream that stilled their breath <br />Too gauntly glared the coming day. <br /> <br />But we, within whose blood there leaps <br />The fulness of a life as wide <br />As Avon's water where he sweeps <br />Seaward at last with Severn's tide, <br /> <br />We heard beyond the desert night <br />The murmur of the fields we knew, <br />And our swift souls with one delight <br />Like homing swallows Northward flew. <br /> <br />We played again the immortal games, <br />And grappled with the fierce old friends, <br />And cheered the dead undying names, <br />And sang the song that never ends; <br /> <br />Till, when the hard, familiar bell <br />Told that the summer night was late, <br />Where long ago we said farewell <br />We said farewell by the old gate. <br /> <br />'O Captains unforgot,' they cried, <br />'Come you again or come no more, <br />Across the world you keep the pride, <br />Across the world we mark the score.'<br /><br />Sir Henry Newbolt<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-school-at-war/
