Good luck to those that see the end,
Good-bye to those that drown-
For each his chance as chance shall send-
And God for all! Shut down!
The strength of twice three thousand horse
That serve the one command;
The hand that heaves the headlong force,
The hate that backs the hand:
The doom-bolt in the darkness freed,
The mine that splits the main;
The white-hot wake, the 'wildering speed-
The Choosers of the Slain!
WHITE HORSES
1897
Where ruin your colts at pasture?
Where hide your mares to breed?
'Mid bergs about the Ice-cap
Or wove Sargasso weed;
By chartless reef and channel,
Or crafty coastwise bars,
But most the ocean-meadows
All purple to the stars!
Who holds the rein upon you?
The latest gale let free.
What meat is in your mangers?
The glut of all the sea.
'twixt tide and tide's returning
Great store of newly dead,-
The bones of those that faced us,
And the hearts of those that fled.
