A Hero

He was so foolish, the poor lad,
He made superior people smile Who knew not of the wings he had
Budding and growing all the while;

Nor that the laurel wreath was made Already for his curly head.

Silly and childish in his ways;
They said: "His future comes to naught." His future!

In the dreadful days
When in a toil his feet were

He hacked his way to glory bright Before his day went down in night.

He fretted wiser folk--small blame!
Such futile, feeble brains were his.

Now we doff hats to hear his name,
Ask pardon where his spirit is,

Because we never guessed him for A hero in the disguise he wore.

It matters little how we live
So long as we may greatly die.

Fashioned for great things,

O forgive
Our dullness in the days gone by!

Now glory wraps you like a cloak From us, and all such common folk.(September 1914)