Veteran's Day Poem

Tomorrow is Veteran's Day and I'm not going to have a ton of time for posting. So I thought I'd post a poem tonight to honor those who make the ultimate sacrifice. Although I'm a pacifist, I believe in supporting those who actually go out to fight, even if I don't agree with the war. I'm in awe of those who serve.

The Charge of the Light Brigade sums things up pretty well for me. The poem, written by Alfred, Lord Tennyson, commemorates the Battle of Balaclava, a disastrous charge made during the Crimean War. The poem, of the Light Brigade's charge against Russia in 1854, is considered one of the finest pro-warrior and anti-war poems out there. It praises the heroes who fought so bravely and blasts the horrific loss of life.

Plus I tend to use the paraphrased line "ours is not to question why, ours is but to do and die" a lot during the course of the day.

The Charge of the Light Brigade

by Alfred, Lord Tennyson

Half a league, half a league,

Half a league onward,

All in the valley of Death

Rode the six hundred.

"Forward, the Light Brigade!

"Charge for the guns!" he said:

Into the valley of Death

Rode the six hundred.

"Forward, the Light Brigade!"

Was there a man dismay'd?

Not tho' the soldier knew

Someone had blunder'd:

Theirs not to make reply,

Theirs not to reason why,

Theirs but to do and die:

Into the valley of Death

Rode the six hundred.

Cannon to right of them,

Cannon to left of them,

Cannon in front of them

Volley'd and thunder'd;

Storm'd at with shot and shell,

Boldly they rode and well,

Into the jaws of Death,

Into the mouth of Hell

Rode the six hundred.

Flash'd all their sabres bare,

Flash'd as they turn'd in air,

Sabring the gunners there,

Charging an army, while

All the world wonder'd:

Plunged in the battery-smoke

Right thro' the line they broke;

Cossack and Russian

Reel'd from the sabre stroke

Shatter'd and sunder'd.

Then they rode back, but not

Not the six hundred.

Cannon to right of them,

Cannon to left of them,

Cannon behind them

Volley'd and thunder'd

Storm'd at with shot and shell,

While horse and hero fell,

They that had fought so well

Came thro' the jaws of Death

Back from the mouth of Hell,

All that was left of them,

Left of six hundred.

When can their glory fade?

O the wild charge they made!

All the world wondered.

Honor the charge they made,

Honor the Light Brigade,

Noble six hundred.