How Steep the Brave! 


NAY, nay, sweet England, do not grieve!   
  Not one of these poor men who died   
But did within his soul believe   
  That death for thee was glorified.   

Ever they watched it hovering near            
  That mystery ’yond thought to plumb,   
Perchance sometimes in loathèd fear   
  They heard cold Danger whisper, Come!—   

Heard and obeyed. O, if thou weep   
  Such courage and honour, beauty, care,            
Be it for joy that those who sleep   
  Only thy joy could share.    


Walter de la Mare