---

Hilaire Belloc - August
Work rating: Low

	The soldier month, the bulwark of the year,
	That never more shall hear such victories told;
	He stands apparent with his heaven-high spear,
	And helmeted of grand Etruscan gold.
	Our harvest is the bounty he has won,
	The loot his fiery temper takes by strength.
	Oh! Paladin of the Imperial sun!
	Oh! crown of all the seasons come at length!

	This is sheer manhood; this is Charlemagne,
	When he with his wide host came conquering home
	From vengeance under Roncesvalles ta`en.
	Or when his bramble beard flaked red with foam
	Of bivouac wine-cups on the Lombard  plain,
	What time he swept to grasp the world at Rome.
Source
The script ran 0.001 seconds.