Prediction Poetry
From: Six Sonnets on the Crimean War
By William Forster
pre 1882
Above
their graves shall future travellers pause,
And
wondering ages on their story dwell –
To
think, how little from a barren cause
True
worth of ridicule or dishonour draws,
Since
warring round the sea-girt citadel,
To
glut the rabid avarice and the pride
Of
priests and despots, they sublimely died
And
made the ground immortal where they fell.
Brave
souls! No dream of gains or losses, tied
To
a perplexing purpose, mystified
Their
clear endeavour. But they still could bleed
And
fling away their lives – their country’s need
Their
only argument. So their dust distils
From
foreign soils. The world their glory fills.
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