The Rout Of The White Hussars

It was not in the open fight
We threw away the sword,
But in the lonely watching
In the darkness by the ford.
The waters lapped, the night-wind blew,
Full-armed the Fear was born and grew,
And we were flying ere we knew
From panic in the night.

Rudyard

Rudyard Kipling was an English journalist, short-story writer, poet, and novelist. He was born in British India, which inspired much of his work. His notable works include the novels 'The Jungle Book,' 'Kim,' and the poem 'If—.' Kipling was one of the most popular writers in the United Kingdom in the late 19th and early 20th centuries. He received the Nobel Prize in Literature in 1907, making him the youngest recipient of the award.

Rudyard

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The Outlaws

Through learned and laborious years
They set themselves to find
Fresh terrors and undreamed-of fears
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ALl that they drew from Heaven above
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Coldly they went about to raise
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The Day's Work

We now, held in captivity,
Spring to our bondage nor grieve,
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Brothers, to give than receive!
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The Ship that Found Herself.

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Sir the old fighting-men broke in the wars,
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Dust of the battle o'erwhelmed them and hid.
Fame never found them for aught that they did.
Wounded and spent to the lazar they drew,
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Sons of the Laurel who press to your meed,
Worthy God's pity most, you who succeed!)
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A Departure

Since first the White Horse Banner blew free,
By Hengist's horde unfurled,
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No charm can bridle the hard-mouthed wind
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All the waters have but one word
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The feast is ended, the tales are told,
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The Destroyers

The strength of twice three thousand horse
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The hate that swings the whole;
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At gaze and gone again,
The Brides of Death that wait the groom,
The Choosers of the Slain!

Offshore where sea and skyline blend
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The knight came home from the quest,
Muddied and sore he came.
Battered of shield and crest,
Bannerless, bruised and lame.
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Better is man for a fall.
Merrily borne, the bugle-horn
Answered the warders call:,
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Here is my horse to be shot!
Ay, they were strong, and the fight was long;
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Oh, dark and deep their van,
That mocked my battle-cry.
I could not miss my man,
But I could not carry by:
Utterly whelmed was I,
Flung under, horse and all.
Merrily borne, the bugle-horn
Answered the warders call!

My wounds are noised abroad;
But theirs my foemen cloaked.
Ye see my broken sword,
But never the blades she broke;
Paying th...

Rudyard