Sagas of Vaster Britain: Poems of the Race, the Empire and the Divinity of Man

by William Wilfred Campbell




LIFE is too bitter
    Strife too strong;
Lackaday! lackaday!
    Dead is poor Song.

There in the mart

    Of the thronging, teeming;
Dead in the dust,
    His gold locks gleaming.

Killed in the fray,
    With his glad heart broken;

Never a sigh for him,
    Never a token

That the ill world cared;
    While with clamour and wrong
She lifts the brute victors

    Of Mammon along.

Dead in the dust,
    With never a care for him;
Save some day the green wreath
    That the world’s heart will wear for him.


When there ’mid her hours
    That are truest and latest,
She recalls, with dumb grieving,
    The voice of her greatest.