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John McCrae

The Warrior

He wrought in poverty, the dull grey days,
    But with the night his little lamp-lit room
Was bright with battle flame, or through a haze
    Of smoke that stung his eyes he heard the boom
Of Bluecher's guns; he shared Almeida's scars,
    And from the close-packed deck, about to die,
Looked up and saw the "Birkenhead"'s tall spars
    Weave wavering lines across the Southern sky:

Or in the stifling 'tween decks, row on row,
    At Aboukir, saw how the dead men lay;
        Charged with the fiercest in Busaco's strife,
Brave dreams are his — the flick'ring lamp burns low —
    Yet couraged for the battles of the day
        He goes to stand full face to face with life.

 
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About the poet
John McCrae
 
By the same poet
In Flanders Fields
The Anxious Dead
Isandlwana
The Unconquered Dead
The Captain
The Song of the Derelict
Quebec
Then and Now
Unsolved
The Hope of My Heart
Penance
Slumber Songs
The Oldest Drama
Recompense
Mine Host
Equality
Anarchy
Disarmament
The Dead Master
The Harvest of the Sea
The Dying of Pere Pierre
Eventide
Upon Watts' Picture "Sic Transit"
A Song of Comfort
The Pilgrims
The Shadow of the Cross
The Night Cometh
In Due Season
 
Related books
John McCrae at amazon.com


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