This is the man who, sole in Britain, sole <br />In Europe, by profounder instinct knew <br />The strength of Britain; and that strength he drew <br />Slow into act, upshouldering the whole <br />Vast weight of effort. Eyes full on the goal <br />Saw nothing less; he held his single clue, <br />Heedless of obstacle; intent to do <br />His one task forthright with unshaken soul. <br /> <br />This is the man whom, dead, the meanest match <br />With their own stature; give tongue, and grow brave <br />On the imperfection fools have wit to espy. <br />His silence towers the grander for their cry, <br />Troubling his fame no more than yelp and scratch <br />Of jackal could disturb that ocean--grave.<br /><br />Robert Laurence Binyon<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/kitchener/
