<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=507162" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The General Elliott</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">He fell in victory's fierce pursuit,<br>Holed through and through with shot,<br>A sabre sweep had hacked him deep<br>Twixt neck and shoulderknot....</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The potman cannot well recall,<br>The ostler never knew,<br>Whether his day was Malplaquet,<br>The Boyne or Waterloo.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But there he hangs for tavern sign,<br>With foolish bold regard<br>For cock and hen and loitering men<br>And wagons down the yard.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Raised high above the hayseed world<br>He smokes his painted pipe,<br>And now surveys the orchard ways,<br>The damsons clustering ripe.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">He sees the churchyard slabs beyond,<br>Where country neighbours lie,<br>Their brief renown set lowly down;<br>His name assaults the sky.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">He grips the tankard of brown ale<br>That spills a generous foam:<br>Oft-times he drinks, they say, and winks<br>At drunk men lurching home.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">No upstart hero may usurp<br>That honoured swinging seat;<br>His seasons pass with pipe and glass<br>Until the tale's complete.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And paint shall keep his buttons bright<br>Though all the world's forgot<br>Whether he died for England's pride<br>By battle, or by pot.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Robert+Graves">Robert Graves</a><div class=q> <img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share"> <script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=507162" data-title="The General Elliott de Robert Graves" data-description="He fell in victory's fierce pursuit, Holed through and through with shot, A sabre sweep had hacked him deep Twixt neck and shoulderknot.... The potman cannot well recall, The ostler never knew, Whether his day was Malplaquet, The Boyne or Waterlo..."></div> </div> </div>

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