We know how a tender-souled woman could master
The anguish of horror, the tremor of fear.
That short brave defence will long live in our story.
That long dreadful march England will not forget;
Though womanhood finds little comfort in glory,
For hearts that are aching and eyes that are wet.
Enough for to-day! When slow time has brought healing.
The tale of those hours by your lips may be told.
But proud admiration will scarce brook concealing,
And Punch to express it is courteously bold.