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John McCrae - The Warrior
Work rating: Medium

He wrought in poverty, the dull grey days,
 But with the night his little lamp-lit room
Was bright with battle flame, or through a haze
 Of smoke that stung his eyes he heard the boom
Of Bluecher`s guns; he shared Almeida`s scars,
 And from the close-packed deck, about to die,
Looked up and saw the "Birkenhead"`s tall spars
 Weave wavering lines across the Southern sky:

Or in the stifling `tween decks, row on row,
 At Aboukir, saw how the dead men lay;
  Charged with the fiercest in Busaco`s strife,
Brave dreams are his — the flick`ring lamp burns low —
 Yet couraged for the battles of the day
  He goes to stand full face to face with life.
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