JournalistPublished by Webmaster on 07/30/2003 (2180 reads)
Ere patriotic passion died
He made a song of love and pride.
With blood and tears he wrote, I think,
Yet when it paled to printer's ink,
A million echoed his refrain:
There wa such faith, such noble rage,
Such glow and glory in his page,
Such bugle call to hire emprise,
Honour and hope and sacrifice,
Unto the stars rag out his strain:
England again! One winter day
I heard a Fleet Street fellow say:
"Poor So-and -so is destitute.
Too bad a bard of his repute
Should starve . . . A patriot so stout'
Let's help him out."
England again! Today I heard
In pauper's grave he was interred,
And wonder in his misery
Did he lament "When one can see
The land he worships run to rot,
A man's a bloody fool to be
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