A More Appropriate Poem

[EClark]

Dylan Thomas seems to be quoted quite a bit during this time.
I would like to submit this as a more appropriate poem

Half a league, half a league, 
  Half a league onward, 
All in the valley of Death 
  Rode the six hundred. 
"Forward, the Light Brigade! 
Charge for the guns!" he said: 
Into the valley of Death 
  Rode the six hundred. 
 
"Forward, the Light Brigade!" 
Was there a man dismay'd?   
Not tho' the soldier knew 
  Some one had blunder'd: 
Theirs not to make reply, 
Theirs not to reason why, 
Theirs but to do and die:     
Into the valley of Death 
  Rode the six hundred. 
 
Cannon to right of them, 
Cannon to left of them, 
Cannon in front of them   
  Volley'd and thunder'd; 
Storm'd at with shot and shell, 
Boldly they rode and well, 
Into the jaws of Death, 
Into the mouth of Hell   
  Rode the six hundred. 
 
Flash'd all their sabres bare, 
Flash'd as they turn'd in air 
Sabring the gunners there, 
Charging an army, while   
  All the world wonder'd: 
Plunged in the battery-smoke 
Right thro' the line they broke; 
Cossack and Russian 
Reel'd from the sabre-stroke     
  Shatter'd and sunder'd. 
Then they rode back, but not 
  Not the six hundred. 
 
Cannon to right of them, 
Cannon to left of them,     
Cannon behind them 
  Volley'd and thunder'd; 
Storm'd at with shot and shell, 
While horse and hero fell, 
They that had fought so well   
Came thro' the jaws of Death, 
Back from the mouth of Hell, 
All that was left of them, 
  Left of six hundred. 
 
When can their glory fade?     
O the wild charge they made! 
  All the world wonder'd. 
Honor the charge they made! 
Honor the Light Brigade, 
  Noble six hundred!

Lord Alfred Tennyson

[EClark]

No Tennyson fans out there? Wow.

[eabrace]

I've always liked that one, but there's so much to read and keep up to date on that I'm mostly in skimming mode lately.  :)

[Terwyn]

I think Henley would be appropriate as well:

Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds and shall find me unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll.
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.

Defeat is not mechanically possible for us. Certainly, we may not win this fight, but it is not possible for us to lose. For losing can only occur if, our will broken and our power spent, we find it impossible to press on.

Take a look at what we have already accomplished, those who may yet give in to despair. We have called for aid from unlikely sources, and we have been answered. Every voice added strengthens not only our numbers, but our resolve.

Though our opponents struck us deeply and dearly, we are not on the defensive. We have issued our challenge, and daily proclaim it more boldly than before.

And they are listening.

[Gothica]

I think that this one may be the most apropos of all regarding our circumstance, given the refrain, the theme of gamesmanship, and the sense the poem gives a) that there's a lot to play for and b) of the grim determination that we're up to the task despite the odds. This is a poem for a hero to recite as he wades into the thick of it. I've always been particularly fond of the second verse, which usually gives me the chills when I read or recite it. It's "Vitaï Lampada" by Sir Henry Newbolt, and I'd like to nominate it for our official poem (especially the refrain).

There's a breathless hush in the Close to-night --
Ten to make and the match to win --
A bumping pitch and a blinding light,
An hour to play and the last man in.
And it's not for the sake of a ribboned coat,
Or the selfish hope of a season's fame,
But his Captain's hand on his shoulder smote
"Play up! play up! and play the game!"

The sand of the desert is sodden red, --
Red with the wreck of a square that broke; --
The Gatling's jammed and the colonel dead,
And the regiment blind with dust and smoke.
The river of death has brimmed his banks,
And England's far, and Honour a name,
But the voice of a schoolboy rallies the ranks,
"Play up! play up! and play the game!"

This is the word that year by year
While in her place the School is set
Every one of her sons must hear,
And none that hears it dare forget.
This they all with a joyful mind
Bear through life like a torch in flame,
And falling fling to the host behind --
"Play up! play up! and play the game!"

[Fansy]

Walking down the streets filled with Heroes hunting Skulls-
To the eastern boardwalk where the Tanks are bold-
Why need a hospital when Defenders bring their cure-aid-
Down in the sewers Blasters pewpews do ring-
I couldn't help but think of Scrappers doing their thing-
Kinetics be fenzying Corrupters on high today-
Dominators showing why they don't die anyway-
Brutes throwing tantrums across the land-
MasterMinds &crew working those 9-5's from here to Japan-
Stalkers still trying to find their place all around-
Controllers never found without getting down-
Flying the air you might give yourself a fright, Peacebringers look funky but they're alright-
Little darker in hue doesn't mean they're evil, Warshades just like to have fun like Evel Knievel-
Killing more than time Arachnos Soldiers do smite-
Not to be confused with a lady in mourn, Arachnos Widows churn in spite-
^ Little known fact about all these types is in the end they turn Hero and heed to Justice's plight ^
Hear them chant Go-Go Good Team with fast footed friend screaming, FOR THE GOOD FIGHT!
So just remember when you're feeling blue all you've got to do is say HORRAH HORRAH GOOD GUYS with me too!

[EClark]

very nice