The Poetry Corner

Antarctic

By Thomas William Hodgson Crosland

What tale is this which stirs a world of knaves Out of its grubbing to throw greasy pence Forth to the hat, and choke with eloquence In boastful prose and verse of doubtful staves? Four men have died, gentlemen, heroes, braves; Snows wrap them round eternally. From thence They may no more return to life or sense And a steel moon aches down on their chill graves. "They died for England." It is excellent To die for England. Death is oft the prize Of him who bears the burden and the load. So with a glory let our lives be spent -- We may be noble in the Minories And die for England in the Camden Road.