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.

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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,
See now, how it is blesseder,
Brothers, to give than receive!
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The Ship that Found Herself.

All the world over, nursing their scars,
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,
Lining the road where the Legions roll through.

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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Of the things that steer the world.
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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
That seeks the single goal;
The line that holds the rending course,
The hate that swings the whole;
The stripped hulls, slinking through the gloom,
At gaze and gone again,
The Brides of Death that wait the groom,
The Choosers of the Slain!

Offshore where sea and skyline blend
In rain, the daylight dies;
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No mark on spit or bar,,
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The Quest

The knight came home from the quest,
Muddied and sore he came.
Battered of shield and crest,
Bannerless, bruised and lame.
Fighting we take no shame,
Better is man for a fall.
Merrily borne, the bugle-horn
Answered the warders call:,
Here is my lance to mend (Haro!),
Here is my horse to be shot!
Ay, they were strong, and the fight was long;
But I paid as good as I got!

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...

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