Poems: New and Old (Newbolt)/St. George's Day

by Henry Newbolt

For other versions of this work, see St George's Day (Newbolt).

St. George's Day

Ypres, 1915.

 

To fill the gap, to bear the bruntWith bayonet and with spade,Four hundred to a four-mile frontUnbacked and undismayed—What men are these, or what great race,From what old shire or town,That run with such goodwill to faceDeath on a Flemish down?

Let be! they bind a broken line:As men die, so die they.Land of the free! their life was thine,It is St. George's Day.

Yet say whose ardour bids them standAt bay by yonder bank,Where a boy's voice and boy's handClose up the quivering rank. Who under those all-shattering skiesPlays out his captain's partWith the last darkness in his eyesAnd Domum in his heart?

Let be, let be! in yonder lineAll names are burned away.Land of his love! the fame be thine,It is St. George's Day.