The Charge of the Light Brigade By Alfred Lord Tennyson
Half a league, half a league,
All in the valley of Death
“Forward, the Light Brigade!
Charge for the guns!” he said.
“Forward, the Light Brigade!”
Was there a man dismayed?
Not though the soldier knew
Theirs not to make reply,
Theirs not to reason why,
Theirs but to do and die.
Stormed at with shot and shell,
Boldly they rode and well,
Flashed all their sabres bare,
Flashed as they turned in air
Sabring the gunners there,
Plunged in the battery-smoke
Right through the line they broke;
Reeled from the sabre stroke
Then they rode back, but not
Stormed at with shot and shell,
While horse and hero fell.
They that had fought so well
Came through the jaws of Death,
Back from the mouth of hell,
All that was left of them,
When can their glory fade?
O the wild charge they made!
Honour the charge they made!
Honour the Light Brigade,