Mary Elizabeth Coleridge (1861–1907)

O, A GALLANT set were they,

As they charged on us that day,

A thousand riding like one!

Their trumpets crying,

And their white plumes flying,

And their sabres flashing in the sun.

O, a sorry lot were we,

As we stood beside the sea,

Each man for himself as he stood!

We were scatter’d and lonely—

A little force only

Of the good men fighting for the good.

But I never loved more

On sea or on shore

The ringing of my own true blade.

Like lightning it quiver’d,

And the hard helms shiver’d,

As I sang, ‘None maketh me afraid!’