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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=549276" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Crecy</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">August 26: 1346</div><div style="margin:10px 0">At Crecy by Somme in Ponthieu<br>High up on a windy hill<br>A mill stands out like a tower;<br>King Edward stands on the mill.<br>The plain is seething below<br>As Vesuvius seethes with flame,<br>But O! not with fire, but gore,<br>Earth incarnadined o'er,<br>Crimson with shame and with fame!--<br>To the King run the messengers, crying<br>'Thy Son is hard-press'd to the dying!'<br>--'Let alone: for to-day will be written in story<br>To the great world's end, and for ever:<br>So let the boy have the glory.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Erin and Gwalia there<br>With England are one against France;<br>Outfacing the oriflamme red<br>The red dragons of Merlin advance:--<br>As harvest in autumn renew'd<br>The lances bend o'er the fields;<br>Snow-thick our arrow-heads white<br>Level the foe as they light;<br>Knighthood to yeomanry yields:--<br>Proud heart, the King watches, as higher<br>Goes the blaze of the battle, and nigher:--<br>'To-day is a day will be written in story<br>To the great world's end, and for ever!<br>Let the boy alone have the glory.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Harold at Senlac-on-Sea<br>By Norman arrow laid low,--<br>When the shield-wall was breach'd by the shaft,<br>--Thou art avenged by the bow!<br>Chivalry! name of romance!<br>Thou art henceforth but a name!<br>Weapon that none can withstand,<br>Yew in the Englishman's hand,<br>Flight-shaft unerring in aim!<br>As a lightning-struck forest the foemen<br>Shiver down to the stroke of the bowmen:--<br>--'O to-day is a day will be written in story<br>To the great world's end, and for ever!<br>So, let the boy have the glory.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Pride of Liguria's shore<br>Genoa wrestles in vain;<br>Vainly Bohemia's King<br>Kinglike is laid with the slain.<br>The Blood-lake is wiped-out in blood,<br>The shame of the centuries o'er;<br>Where the pride of the Norman had sway<br>The lions lord over the fray,<br>The legions of France are no more:--<br>--The Prince to his father kneels lowly;<br>--'His is the battle! his wholly!<br>For to-day is a day will be written in story<br>To the great world's end, and for ever:--<br>So, let him have the spurs, and the glory!'</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Francis+Turner+Palgrave">Francis Turner Palgrave</a><div class=q>
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At Crecy by Somme in Ponthieu
High up on a windy hill
A mill stands out like a tower;
King Edward stands on the mill.
The plain is seething below
As Vesuvius seethes with flame,
But O! not with fire, but gore,
Earth incarnadined o..."></div>
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