01.07.2007, 05:43
General Gordon
The marks of death were on him, and he bore
In every feature that sharp, clear, cold look
Which is not of this world; his weak frame shook,
Yet not with terror shook; for oft before
He had sought death amid the battle's roar;
Nor shrank he now, when in his chamber lone
Death, visible death, for three long moons had shown
His dart upraised, but struck not; still he wore
His brow, though sad, undaunted; for he knew
This was his last great fight, whose promise high
Was endless glory to the faithful few,
Whose courage can endure to victory.
And so he conquered, and a soldier true
And gallant, as he lived, did Gordon die.
The marks of death were on him, and he bore
In every feature that sharp, clear, cold look
Which is not of this world; his weak frame shook,
Yet not with terror shook; for oft before
He had sought death amid the battle's roar;
Nor shrank he now, when in his chamber lone
Death, visible death, for three long moons had shown
His dart upraised, but struck not; still he wore
His brow, though sad, undaunted; for he knew
This was his last great fight, whose promise high
Was endless glory to the faithful few,
Whose courage can endure to victory.
And so he conquered, and a soldier true
And gallant, as he lived, did Gordon die.