My Hero





(_To Robert Gould Shaw_)



Flushed with the hope of high desire,

He buckled on his sword,

To dare the rampart ranged with fire,

Or where the thunder roared;

Into the smoke and flame he went,

For God's great cause to die--

A youth of heaven's element,

The flower of chivalry.



This was the gallant faith, I trow,

Of which the sages tell;

On such devotion long ago

The benediction fell;

And never nobler martyr burned,

Or braver hero died,

Than he who worldly honor spurned

To serve the Crucified.



And Lancelot and Sir Bedivere

May pass beyond the pale,

And wander over moor and mere

To find the Holy Grail;



But ever yet the prize forsooth

My hero holds in fee;

And he is Blameless Knight in truth,

And Galahad to me.





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