The boy stood on the burning deck,Whence all but him had fled;The flame that lit the battle's wreckShone round him o'er the dead.
But whether on the scaffold highOr in the battle's van,The fittest place where man can dieIs where he dies for man!
October's bellowing anger breakes and cleavesThe bronzed battalions of the stricken woodIn whose lament I hear a voice that grievesFor battle's fruitless harvest, and the feudOf outrage men. Their lives are like the leavesScattered in flocks of ruin, tossed and blownAlong the westering furnace flaring red.O martyred youth and manhood overthrown,The burden of your wrongs is on my head.siegfried sassoon
In glittering arms and glory dressed, High he rears his ruby crest. There the thundering strokes begin, There the press and there the din; Talymalfra's rocky shore Echoing to the battle's roar.thomas gray
It's never over, al'Thor. The battle's never done.robert jordan
When the hurly-burly's done, When the battle's lost and won.