A Spring Harvest/Anglia Valida in Senectute

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ANGLIA VALIDA IN SENECTUTE

(On The Declaration Of War)

Not like to those who find untrodden ways; But down the weary paths we know,Through every change of sky and change of days Silent, processional we go.
Not unto us the soft, unlaboured breath Of children's hopes and children's fears:We are not sworn to battle to the death With all the wrongs of all the years:
We are old, we are old, and worn and school'd with ills, Maybe our road is almost done,Maybe we are drawn near unto the hills Where rest is and the setting sun:
But yet a pride is ours that will not brook The taunts of fools too saucy grown,He that is rash to prove it, let him look He kindle not a fire unknown.
Since first we flung our gauntlet to the skies And dared the high Gods' will to bend,A fire that still may burn deceit and lies Burn and consume them to the end.
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