What sea shall know their daring?
Shall the battle reek or the dead calm yield
Their wreaths that are preparing?
Shall they merely stand and wait the call?
Shall they hear it, rush and slay and fall?—
What matter?—their swords are baring!
We stand in the crowds that see them go—
We who are old and weak, unready;
We see the red blood destined to flow
Flushing their cheeks, as with footstep steady